


A Confusion of Will and Desire

by GatewayGirl



Series: The Confusion Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: 8th year, Angst, Bathroom Sex, Bisexuality, Developing Relationship, HP: EWE, Infidelity, Multi, Rape Fantasy, Sex Toys, Sexual Identity, Shower Sex, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-29
Updated: 2009-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:11:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 69,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GatewayGirl/pseuds/GatewayGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry starts to have erotic dreams about his godfather, he questions his sexual preference. The real issue turns out to be even more complicated and disruptive. Then there's Draco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: I didn't use Archive warnings because the situations are ambiguous, and the ambiguity is important to the plot. It's not all that dark, but may be triggering for some people. If you'll want to avoid this, that should probably be clear from the theme and tags, and the following history...
> 
> Six months before writing this, I wrote a short fic (_May I?_) for a Harry/Sirius exchange. The recipient wanted a fifth-year Grimmauld Place story. I structured the story around a potion effect, because anything else would have felt too abusive to me, and made it technically possible as a canon insertion by having Remus block Harry's memories afterward. I don't really like that sort of ending, though, in which people who should have been changed by an experience aren't. Recently, I started to think, well, what if Harry began to remember once Remus died? That would be a complete _mess_....
> 
> You should definitely read [](http:)May I? before this. I had someone test it without, and she said it was much better with.
> 
> Canon-Compliancy: DH:EWE

_The hand pressed tight into a curved, hard prick, the squeezing pull making the pink tip pinker. The motion was slow and deliberate. Harry followed the path of the arm up to a familiar face. Lupin was watching him, steady, unblinking. He looked merciless. _

 

With a wrench of twisting perception, Harry woke. Oblique afternoon light marked the tall, narrow shape of a castle window. He and Ron had joined two beds together and gone to sleep in the morning light, Hermione in between them -- in the middle because she was the girl, or possibly because she was cold. They had certainly all needed the reassurance of company, more even than Ron and Hermione had needed more private intimacy. Together, they were safe.

Now, however, his heart was hammering in his chest, and his gut twisting beneath it. What was wrong with him? Moving as quietly as possible, he eased out of the bed and onto the thick carpet beside it. He was still dressed -- they all were -- his bare feet and unzipped jeans the only concession to comfort. He did them up slowly, to mute the sound, and took a few soft steps toward the window. Behind him, he heard Hermione stirring. Immediately, he began to move away -- not to avoid her, but to get further from Ron. Neville's bed was still empty. Harry dropped the thick curtains around it, and moved to the far side of them. He waited. As he expected, Hermione peeked around the corner, and at his nod, came to join him.

"Trouble sleeping?" she asked.

Harry bit his lip. "Dreams," he said shortly.

She sighed, but then nodded. "Of course."

He shook his head. Everything still seemed unreal. "Not like that," he whispered. His shoulders drew in. "Worse, really."

"Worse?" she asked, confused. "Harry, what's wrong? It's not-- not Voldemort, is it?"

"Merlin, no. I'm rid of him, at least. I'm sure of that."

"Then what do you mean?"

He looked away. "I dreamed about Lupin."

"Oh, Harry!" She sighed. "But that's what I expected, really. With all--"

"You don't understand! I didn't dream of him dying." Harry shivered, remembering the cold look on Lupin's face.

Hermione looked confused. "Something earlier, then?"

"No." Harry sighed. "A battle nightmare would be almost okay. I'd understand it, anyway." He bit his lip. "But in the dream, he was fine, except he looked really angry, and he was _wanking_, and that makes no sense, does it?" He saw her try to open her mouth and plowed on. "I'm sure I've never been attracted to him, and it's just _sick_, really, and what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I even thinking something like that?"

She laid a hand on his arm. He felt grateful she wasn't slapping him or checking him for curses.

"Dreams can be hard to figure out," she said gently, "and trauma does strange things." She bit her lip. "Maybe the, um, sex part is just symbolic of life? And he's angry because you know he's not alive, though you want him to be?"

Harry tried to make sense of that, but it just sounded like something Trelawney would come up with. He shrugged.

"Dunno."

She hesitated for a second. "Or maybe you _were _attracted to him, at some point," she said, her voice going a bit higher, "but not enough to recognize it. And now there's less reason not to."

Harry shook his head. "I really don't think so," he said, though if it weren't for the dream itself, he would have been certain Hermione was wrong. But there _was _the dream, and why should he picture another man's penis in such detail if he hadn't wanted to think about it? Remus's cock -- as he had imagined it in his dream -- had looked nothing like his own. He could still picture the tight grip Remus had kept on it, the way the skin was squeezed up by his slow pulls. "I've been thinking about it since I woke up, and I can't remember _anything _that could have been...." He trailed off, shrugging. This wasn't what he should be worrying about. "It's not the problem. My godson-- I have an orphaned godson."

"By itself," she said softly, "that's a lot for you to deal with. I'm not surprised your subconscious is going off in strange directions."

"You think it's not mad, then?"

"Harry." She put her arms around him and for a moment, just held him close. "You're processing a lot. An awful lot. For the next few weeks, at least, weird is probably normal. Your mind must be overloaded with all sorts of things." Her hold slipped down to his hands and held them tight. "Give yourself some time."

_Sirius. Sirius was lying beside him, solid and hot against his side, his hand wrapped warmly around Harry's cock, his insistent kiss stealing Harry's voice. Harry was fumbling to return the touch, but frustrated by clothes. Sirius was swathed in heavy fabric, and Harry couldn't manage anything like Sirius was doing to him. _

_"I think you should slide his jeans off," came a whisper, soft and reasonable and remote, and Sirius was nodding and rolling him back, undressing him. He licked his lips when he looked down._

_"Harry, why don't you help Sirius with his clothing?" _

_While he was reaching to obey, he looked up. Lupin's face was cold._

Harry was in a strange room -- no, a familiar one, just not the one he expected, not someone else's bedroom at 12 Grimmauld Place. Pale light was bleeding in the low window, reflecting off Cannons orange posters, and he was alone, exhausted, and hard as a rock.

"Hell," he muttered. _Sirius. Why Sirius? _But he hadn't minded that part. And the first dream hadn't aroused him, but this one had. He was sick with it -- the need to get off, _right now_. Would Ron sleep through that? He glanced over toward his friend's bed and saw their dress robes hanging on the back of the door. Fuck. Lupin's funeral. A queasy wave of guilt swept through his arousal. He'd get by with cold water and a walk.

  


Hermione came and found him on the hill. "We'll need to go soon," she said.

The words wrapped like a constrictor around Harry's chest. "I don't think I can do it."

"Harry." She laid a hand on his arm. "You can. For Remus. You've had your speech ready for days."

"I had another dream." He swallowed. "Like the night he died."

"Of him masturbating?" She looked almost alarmed, or possibly that tension was disgust.

"No, not exactly." But hadn't Lupin had his hand pressed against the front of his trousers? He hadn't remembered that when he woke, but it must have been in the dream. He could picture it clearly. "Someone was touching me. Someone else. A man. Lupin told him to do more. He told me to take his clothes off -- not his, the other man's. He stayed out of reach and watched."

"That's very strange, Harry."

"Yeah. And I didn't mind the other man touching me -- I think I was pretty drunk, or something -- but I didn't like Lupin telling me what to do."

"Oh!" Her voice brightened. "Well, maybe that's what it's all about, then."

"I-- What?"

"Well, you know that Remus was one of the few people who made you behave. And it was good of him, really, but you always resented it. If you agreed with what he was telling you to do, but you still didn't like being told, isn't that really about resentment? And maybe disappointment that you'll never get to know him as an equal?"

Harry pushed down the scornful thought that he had been a sight more mature than Remus Lupin for at least the last year. Going into a rant about Lupin's flaws would not help him get through this eulogy. "If it was that, shouldn't it be Snape?"

She coughed. Smiling, she shook her head. "It can't be Snape. Snape didn't _matter _enough to you, Harry, and he never tried to be constructive about restraining you. Really -- it's a _dream_. Put it aside. When Teddy gets older, he'll want to know that Harry Potter spoke at his father's funeral."

Harry made a face. "Teddy is _not _going to think of me as 'Harry Potter', thanks! I'll just be Harry -- Uncle Harry, at most." He took a deep breath, and let it out. "All right. Remus was kind, and perceptive, and hard-working, and brave in his way, and I can say all of that."

"Good."

"Let's go, then."

  


_He was leaning over, close to Sirius -- or rather, close to his thick, dark prick. He marveled at the weight of it in his hand as he shifted lower to stroke his mouth down it. _

_"Angel," Sirius called him, and that was enough to make him slide his lips over the head, to test the give of it with his tongue, to make his godfather moan. _

_It excited him, taking it deeper, feeling that smooth flesh press against the roof of his mouth, sucking hard, and then playing over it loosely. It made him hard too, and he came up on his knees so that would show. Lupin, of course, was wanking, but what mattered was Sirius. _

  


"Harry?" a voice whispered, not at all seductively. Harry twitched awake, breathing hard. His cock was hard too. He had to swallow; his mouth was watering. Ron was leaning over from his bed.

"You were having a nightmare," he said earnestly, then gave a little laugh. "Thought it was something more pleasant at first, but then you started calling for Sirius."

"I--" Harry thought the terror of being caught should be enough to wilt his erection, but the damning thing persisted, evidence of the dream's nature. He didn't dare roll onto his back.

"Yeah," he said shakily. "He was falling."

"Okay now?"

"Yeah. Fine. It was a long time ago."

Harry couldn't get back to sleep. He lay awake wondering about the dream. He could still remember how heavy that cock had felt in his hand, how the ridge of vein had shifted under his tongue. This wasn't - couldn't be -- just a symbol of something. He'd been dreaming of sucking cock -- sucking his godfather's cock. And it had been a really good dream, or would have been, if he'd been able to finish it.

He was desperate to finish. He could go to the loo. That would make sense, for someone who had woken up in the middle of the night. The way he felt, it wouldn't take long. As soon as the door closed behind him, Harry reached into his pajama bottoms and wrapped a hand around his cock. At first he leaned forward on the sink, since it was right in front of him, but that was no good because he could see himself in the mirror, and shame twisted at him. At least it didn't talk. He sat on the toilet lid and pushed his waistband further down, unable to keep from watching as he fisted his own cock hard. It wasn't as dark or thick as he had imagined for Sirius, nor smooth and curved as he had pictured for Remus. Sirius.... He brought his left hand to his mouth, sucking on a knuckle as his grip eased and motion sped to a blur. He was so, so close.

_Angel_, Sirius whispered, and Harry bit his knuckle to keep from screaming as he came.

Harry's hands shook a little as he wiped the mess up from the floor. His finger was dented on both sides from his teeth. He washed, glad of the instant warmth from the charmed tap, and belatedly remembered to flush the toilet for cover. He couldn't remember ever fantasizing about a man like that before -- although, to be honest, a lot of his fantasies were rather vague, and he usually tried not to think about anything when he was wanking. And there had been that time he was thinking about flying, but a picture of the Kestrels' new Seeker had come into it somewhere, just at the end.

Did this mean he was _gay_? He'd been having a hard time feeling comfortable with Ginny, since his return, but he'd thought that was just time apart, and the funerals, and her mourning Fred, and him having lost too many people to mourn any so completely. Was it really that he didn't feel safe now that he could actually have her? Now that adult life wasn't a theoretical thing that would probably never happen, was he revising what he wanted? Harry washed his hands again, and then his face, and tried to think about sex with Ginny. He couldn't really get drawn into it, as sated as he was feeling, but he thought he was still attracted to her.

He needed time alone, he decided. Or time with strangers. Maybe a Muggle bookstore would have something for if you thought you might be gay. He blanched at the thought of a _Prophet _photographer managing to capture that purchase. A glamour, he decided. He would Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, leave on the Muggle side, walk for a while, and then duck out of sight to change his appearance. That would work.

He left right after breakfast.

  


At first, Harry just wandered. He found one bookstore, but when he went inside, it was huge -- multiple floors of books, with garish electric lights and weird cheap carpet -- and he couldn't bring himself to ask where books about sex would be. He cut off onto a smaller street, hoping for smaller shops, but mostly found restaurants.

He was about to turn back when a couple came out of the pub in front of him. One of them was black, and one white and blond, but what got his attention was that they were both men. Harry glanced quickly around. He didn't see anything noticeably gay about the area he was in, but London had to have gay spots, right? Maybe he was near one. Carefully, he slowed down to match the couple's pace -- did everyone walk that slowly when they were holding hands? -- and followed them. They turned a corner onto an even narrower, older street. He quickened his pace to get them back in sight and then slowed again. Soon after that, they ducked into a corner market. Wishing he had brought his Invisibility Cloak, he lingered by the window of a patisserie, feigning interest in cakes and keeping an eye on the door of the market.

The two reemerged, the black man smiling as he spoke. For a moment, they both looked at him and fell silent. Then, quite suddenly, they were striding towards him. Unsure of what to do, Harry returned to looking in the window. They would pass him, right?

They didn't. A tanned hand latched on his shoulder and pulled him around. Harry stepped back until he was nearly touching the glass.

"You're following us."

Harry felt his face flood with heat, leaving little point in denial. "I, um-- Sorry?" he tried. "I'll go away."

The black man crossed his arms over his chest. His hair was cut very short and lightened a little, giving it reddish tones. "How about telling us why?"

Harry bit his lip. "I'd heard--" He swallowed. "I thought maybe you'd go to a gay area?"

That was mortifying to get out. The amused twitch of the black man's lips made it at once better and worse.

"And do you want to go to a gay area?" he challenged.

"Yeah," Harry muttered.

The blond laughed. "Well, maybe you should be more specific."

"Excuse me?" Harry answered, horrified. Did they think he wanted to be picked up?

"What is it you want? Sex? Magazines? Dance clubs? Someone to talk to?"

"Just ... I ... talk?" Harry felt embarrassingly incoherent. "I mean--" He swallowed. "Never mind. It was stupid."

"Hey." The blond man caught at his arm as he started to turn away. "It's okay. Just ... following people is a little creepy, you know."

"Sorry."

"Look, there's an LBGT counseling center just a few blocks away from here. They'll take walk-ins most days."

"A what center?" Harry's mind caught up and he stepped back. "Never mind. If I want to talk to someone who thinks I'm crazy, I have plenty--"

"Hold it, both of you!" the black man ordered. He looked at Harry. "He said an LGBT -- that's Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgendered -- counseling center. The last thing they'll think of as 'crazy' is sexual identity issues, okay? But you obviously _do _have issues, and you said you wanted someone to talk to."

"Oh." Harry didn't want to say 'sorry" again, so he just bit his lip and stood still.

"You didn't even know what I meant?" the blond man asked incredulously. "Where are you _from_?"

"Er, just ... my aunt and uncle don't let me out of the house much."

"You could try reading the newspaper."

But the black man had pulled a business card from his back pocket, put an efficient X across the front, and was scribbling an address on the back. "Here. Take your next left, go two junctions down and then another one in almost this direction, and look for a pinkish sign with a bunch of stick figures holding hands at the bottom of it."

Feeling unaccountably shy, Harry took the card and managed a wavering smile. "Thanks. Sorry about bothering you."

"Eh. There are worse things you could have done, as a confused kid. Take care of yourself, right?"

"I'll try."

  


"Hello, Harry," the man said, greeting him with a handshake. He was casually dressed in jeans and a collared shirt, and looked fairly normal except for wearing sandals instead of shoes. "I'm David." He gestured to a pair of chairs. Rather than retreating behind the desk, he sat in one. Nervously, Harry sat in the other.

"What brings you here today?"

"Well, I'm not really sure I should be here," Harry said awkwardly. "I mean, I have a girlfriend--" He stopped, on the verge of panic. Did he have to be more gay to qualify for this?

"Okay," the man said patiently. "But you came here for some reason."

"Yeah, well." Harry thought he might regret that. "I've been having these really disturbing dreams."

"Disturbing?" the man asked politely.

Harry realized he must sound like a complete berk. "I'm having sex with my godfather," he blurted out, and then added, belatedly, "in the dream, I mean."

The man's eyes widened. "Ah. Is it..." He paused, thinking. "Is the dream arousing, or just disturbing?"

"Arousing." Harry shook his fringe down. "Or I wouldn't be here, would I?"

David shrugged. "You might still find it less embarrassing to talk about here." He made a few notes on his pad. "Is the dream disturbing because you're with your godfather, or because you're with another man?"

"Both, I think," Harry said frankly. "I mean, I've never thought of myself as gay. Though that part wouldn't be so bad except that I'm sharing a room with my best friend, and I apparently called out Siri-- my godfather's name in my sleep, last night. And Ron -- my friend -- said he thought it was a good dream until he heard that, so I let him think it was about when my godfather died, but he'll catch on if it happens again."

"Your godfather -- Siri, is it?"

After hesitating a moment, Harry nodded. That sounded Indian or Pakistani or something, but that didn't really matter.

"Was Siri's death recent?"

Harry shook his head. "I was fifteen. That's another thing about the dream. I'm fifteen still. And a friend of his is watching us."

More rapid notes followed this statement, and Harry managed a smile. "I'm sorry. This is sort of a mess, isn't it?"

"Well, there's a lot to it," David said tactfully. "Let's go back over a few things." He looked over the notes as if trying to decide where to start. "So, in this dream, you're having sex with Siri while a friend of his watches?"

"And he's touching himself," Harry said, deciding he might as well get it over with. "And that's creepy -- the watching, I mean -- but the part with Siri is hot."

"Did you have a good relationship with your godfather?"

"Yes," Harry said promptly, and then hesitated. "Well, sort of."

"You're not sure."

"Well, I'm not sure he quite knew how to treat me. Sometimes he acted like I was his son, and sometimes like I was a replacement for my father -- his best mate, you know? We didn't meet until I was thirteen."

David looked up at that. "Why would you not have met your godfather?"

"He, um, was in prison." That sounded horrible, Harry thought. This man must be thinking that his godfather wasn't anyone to be trusted. "I guess he knew me as a baby, but my parents were murdered when I was pretty young. Another friend of theirs was too, and it was blamed on Siri. Years later, the other person he supposedly killed showed up alive, and it turned out he'd framed him -- Siri."

"What was he like? It must have been a shock, meeting him after all that time."

"Yes. He was ... well, impressive, sometimes, and a bit lost others. It's a lot of time to lose, twelve years."

"I expect so. Was he difficult?"

"Not-- well, a little. He was always good to me. On the other hand, people who knew him were able to believe that he'd murdered a bunch of people, so ... a little bit dangerous."

David blinked, but managed to restrain himself from the obvious comment. "May I ask how he died?" he asked instead.

"Um. Kind of a brawl." _God, this sounds like a trainwreck. Fighting terrorists just wouldn't be believable, though._

"So you knew him for a short period of time, when you were in the beginning of adolescence."

Harry considered that. It was true. "Yeah."

"And his friend?"

"Reed," Harry supplied, decided that names helped. "I, um, met him the same year. I, uh, sort of think they may have been lovers, though no one says that. Just something about the way they'd touch, when they talked." His face, he thought, must be scarlet, to judge from how hot it felt. "Not that I noticed that then, but Reed died a few weeks ago, and we were looking through pictures after the funeral...."

David frowned slightly. "Was that when these dreams started?"

"Yes, actually."

David lifted his eyebrow in an almost chastising look that reminded Harry disturbingly of Remus. "Hm. Why do you think you might have a dream like that, then?"

Harry looked down. _Because I have a crush on my dead godfather_, he thought. "I don't know."

"Do you think it bothers you that they may have been lovers?"

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter much, does it? I mean, they're both dead."

"I wonder," David said carefully, "if you might be expressing some internalized homophobia. It sounds like you realized Siri and this other man had been lovers, and began to have erotic dreams about them, but in the dreams, they are sexually abusing you. Is that a fair assessment?'

"Um, no." Harry reddened. "And I didn't mean--" He wasn't sure how to say that the dreams started right after Remus died, not after the funeral. That sounded so horrible. And the first ones had been different anyway. "Anyway, it doesn't feel like that. I'm not angry at-- Actually, I was thinking it might be jealousy."

"Jealousy? How so?"

"Well, if my-- if Siri showed up alive and well and gave me a wink and said 'up for it?' I'm pretty sure I'd drop trou' in a flash." Having said that, Harry suddenly realized it was true. Sirius had been _hot_. "And everything about him in the dream is good -- brilliant even. I wonder if maybe when I finally got that Reed had been _his_, I wanted to make that bad somehow, because I wanted him, or because Reed married after my godfather died, but that's all messed up, because they're both dead, and I have this godson--"

He stopped, startled. The counselor looked concerned. Harry couldn't blame him.

"Tell me about your godson."

"He's just a baby. Reed's son."

"Aren't you a little young to be someone's godfather?"

"Yeah, but I made Reed go home when he was going to leave his wife, and she was pregnant, so I think that's why it was me." He looked away. _More train wreck._

"That sounds like a difficult situation for a young man to be in."

"Yeah." Harry shrugged. "He was kind of irresponsible. They both were, actually."

"He and his wife?"

"He and my godfather. Reed came across as the better of the two, but I think he was actually a lot worse. He nearly killed me and some friends once, because he'd forgotten to take his medicine, and then--" Harry shrugged. He couldn't think of a Muggle equivalent that really worked. Was there medicine for occasional homicidal episodes? Probably there was, because the counselor didn't look confused.

"Did he ever ... behave inappropriately towards you?"

Harry made a face. "Well, not like that."

"Just violent episodes?"

Harry squeezed his shoulders in miserably. He couldn't explain about werewolves. "He never hurt me. Just ... just a couple of scares."

David sighed. "Have you had any adults in your life that you could trust?"

"I...." Harry had to think about it. Not while he was living with the Dursleys, certainly. Professor McGonagall, maybe? Except he was usually trying to evade her. Not Dumbledore, most years, although that was really too bad, because they'd been working for the same things, on the whole. "Um, a couple of teachers, maybe? My best friend's parents, the last few years."

David nodded sympathetically. "That makes everything more difficult, if you weren't safe as a child."

"Well, I--" Harry stopped himself from protesting. His aunt and uncle hadn't been concerned with keeping him safe, even from their son. He shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Are you worried about how you'll treat your godson?"

"Well, yeah," Harry burst out. "I mean, when he gets older, he'll ask me about his dad, right? And what do I say if this is what I think of him?" Harry connected back to the previous thoughts. "But I'm not afraid I'll hurt him, or anything. Or, you know, _want _him. I mean, if I stay in touch and am around when he's a child, I don't see how I could. But if I'm around, then there's having to talk about Reed."

"Whom you don't think much of."

Harry bit his lip. "Yeah. Not really. Though I suppose that's not really your specialty."

"Family relationships tend to come up in most counseling," David said neutrally. When Harry looked up, he smiled. "But if you'd like to return to sexuality, we can do that."

Harry rolled his eyes. "As opposed to the rest of my messed-up life. Okay."

"Do you think that's messed up? If you're attracted to men?"

"I suppose not," Harry said. "On the other hand, being attracted to my godfather is."

David's lip twitched in a smile. "Really, I think that's the most normal part. Are you familiar with the concept of a safe crush?"

"Safe...? Um, no."

"Sometimes, when someone is just developing sexual interest, they will get a very intense crush on someone who is inaccessible -- usually a celebrity. Since they have no actual contact with this person, there's no risk, just a chance to fantasize what a meeting and seduction and relationship might be like." David shrugged. "Now, picking someone you lost serves the same purpose, although less pleasantly."

"Oh. You mean, since I can't actually try to kiss him, or anything, it's safer than, say, my best friend's oldest brother who would be horrified, or someone on the street, who might be a creep."

"Essentially, yes." David leaned forward. "Originally, you seemed unsure of your sexuality, but you had no reservations when talking about Siri. Does that tell you anything?"

Harry bit his lip. He supposed it did. "Um, that I'm bi? And just not very ... sure of people? And maybe sort of guilty that I'm thinking about this when I have a girlfriend?"

"Yes, you'd mentioned a girlfriend. How do you feel about her?"

"Well, she's pretty, and brave, and quick--"

"But how do you _feel_?"

"Oh." Harry swallowed. "I don't know. I was madly in love with her a year ago. But then we didn't see each other for a long time, and it's ... awkward, sometimes."

"Have you talked about that with her? Or about these dreams?"

"Mer-- God, no!" Harry exclaimed, horrified. "I mean, her mother is really, _really _conservative about things, and I live with them--"

David looked taken aback. "You _live _with your girlfriend and her mother?"

"Well, the whole family. Her closest brother is my best friend, and I didn't have any other place to go for the summer, and I can't really rent one, when I'm going back to school in September."

"University?"

"No, I have one more year before that."

"Still -- that doesn't sound like a good situation for you. It puts you under a great deal of social pressure."

Harry hadn't thought about it that way, but he supposed it did. Dinners were becoming awkward, and having _that_ sort of dream about Sirius in Ron's room.... He shrugged. "S'pose."

"Don't you think you should be able to tell a lover when something is bothering you?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "Ideally, yeah." He sighed. "Back at school, maybe."

David looked back over the desk and sighed. "I have a scheduled client arriving in five minutes, so I'm afraid we need to wrap this up," he said, reaching for a card from one of the little holders on the desk. "I'd be happy to talk to you again, though." He scribbled a few words on the card and handed it to Harry. "We try to always have someone free, but if you don't want to start over, call ahead and make an appointment."

Nodding, Harry got to his feet. "Thanks. I'm not sure I'll be able to make it into London again, but even if I can't, I think this has helped a lot."

"I hope so, but I really think you could use a few more sessions. You have a lot to work through." David hesitated for a moment. "Would you like some advice?"

Harry looked at him in surprise. He hadn't been sure that was allowed. "Please," he said fervently.

David broke into a smile for a moment, and then sobered. "Look," he said, reaching for the leaflets as he spoke. Harry wasn't particular surprised that he selected _Bisexuality _and _Coming Out_, but he was a little more startled at_ Sex with Health_ and _Staying Safe: Protecting yourself from emotional and physical abuse_.

"You obviously have a lot more than sexual preference issues to deal with," David said, incidentally keeping Harry from protesting his choice of leaflets. "As a first step, I think you should try to separate that out. Your subconscious knows you're worried about being sexually attracted to men, and it's lumping that in with every other thing you're worried about, and that's probably making it harder for you to deal with any of them. I think if you can get a handle on what you like, you might find it easier to grieve what you've lost, and to be angry where it's appropriate, and to forgive when that's better."

Biting his lip, Harry nodded. That made a lot of sense. A lot more than Hermione's allegorical interpretation of wanking, certainly. "Right," he said, "but how? I mean, I can't go running around having sex with a representative assortment of people--"

David laughed. "No, and I wouldn't recommend it, especially when you're so emotionally vulnerable. How about magazines? Or just paying attention to who and what you think about when you're aroused? Or thinking about a particular thing and seeing if it interests you?"

"Oh." Harry's face was heating again. "All right. Got it." He reached out and took the leaflets. "Um, thanks."

"I'm glad I could help," David said, shaking his hand just firmly enough. "I hope I'll see you again, but in any case, good luck with everything."

"Thanks," Harry repeated, and ducked out the door. An older man, slightly balding, was waiting outside. He heard David greet him as they passed.

  


Feeling unaccountably better -- after all, he hadn't resolved anything -- Harry turned the other way down the street, continuing into parts unknown in quest of dirty magazines with something other than girls. When he spotted a sex shop, he hesitated, and then with a giddy burst of adventurous feeling, went in.

He found himself in a stairway, with a large room to one side. It was decorated more tastefully than he expected, although there was rather a lot of purple for a Muggle store. A directory on an easel in front of him indicated that books, magazines, and videos were upstairs, and fetishwear downstairs. With a nervous look at the steps down -- and a twinge of curiosity at what the turns of the stairs might conceal -- he started up.

"Books" turned out to include non-fiction as well as stories. He picked up a book on bisexual identity, and another that was just about sex. After that, he picked out a couple of magazines, trying not to blush too much as he glanced over a picture of a strapping blond man holding his cock out over another man's extended tongue. At least they weren't moving. His heart raced at the thought of them _moving_, like the girls in Ron's magazines. _I can't get magical gay porn. Someone would find out._

Anxiously, he went back downstairs and into the main room. This seemed to be mostly toys. There were shelves and shelves of penis-shaped things along the far wall, in a variety of sizes. Embarrassed, but having to know, he wandered obliquely in that direction, turning when he was close. He knew he shouldn't be embarrassed. Everyone else here had chosen to come into this store, right? He touched one of the smaller cock things, and was startled to find it not entirely hard. It didn't have the surface feel of the real thing, but it had about the right give.

"Looking for something in particular?"

He whipped around at the question. Only Seeker reflexes drew his hand back fast enough to keep him from knocking over everything. "Um," he said, looking into the face of a thin young woman in a striped top. Her nose and eyebrow were pierced, and her ears looked like a display of graduated rings. "Uh, no." He lifted the books in indication that his shopping had been successful.

"Well, if you have any questions, I'd be happy to help," she said. "The selection can be a little overwhelming." As naturally as if she were arranging cakes, she reached for the thing Harry had been touching and settled it at a slightly different angle on the shelf. "This is silicone. Nice and yielding, and it can be sterilized, but you have be sure not to tear it."

"Oh."

"That design isn't any good for anal use, though, if that's what you want. For that, you need a flared bottom." The woman indicated a lower shelf. "Butt plugs are there." The things she indicated ranged from finger-width to as thick as the cock Harry gave Sirius in dreams, but most were short, and all had wide bases. She pointed to another shelf where molded bollocks were included at the bases of a few molded cocks. "Or you can get the full package," she said with an altogether too comfortable smile.

"Uh...." Harry picked up one of the smaller butt plugs. He wondered what it would feel like in his arse. He should find out, shouldn't he? The price on the base was higher than he expected, but not more than he had available for extras. "This, maybe."

The woman's cheeks dimpled as she smiled. "All right. Do you have lube?"

"Um...." Harry knew he must be obviously out of his depth. He was tempted to just drop the magazines and bolt. How did she _do _this?

"It's over here," she said cheerily. "For anal use, most people like it a little bit thick." She pulled two bottles off a shelf and plopped them on the counter. "For masturbation, this is a nice long-lasting one." A third bottle joined them. "And for vaginal use...." Her hand hesitated over a fourth bottle. "Would that be a possibility?" Blushing, Harry nodded, and three more bottles joined the array. He stood, trying to pretend this was normal, as the young woman expounded on the features of this or that lube. Eventually he picked two, and then at the checkout counter -- from a basket bearing a cheery "Safety first!" sign -- some condoms, though he wasn't sure if wizards used them.

Eventually, he escaped with his shopping in a very discreet bag. The first chance he got, he ducked into an alleyway and shrunk the lot to something that fit even more discreetly in his pocket.

After that, he decided, he really needed lunch, and maybe a beer. The Leaky Cauldron would have been comforting, but he wanted to look over those leaflets while he was still in the Muggle world. At least he was an adult in both, now.

  


While he waited for a sandwich at a nearby cafe, he looked over _Staying Safe _and _Bisexuality_ (it really did start with a section called "Confused?") and thought about what the counselor had said. The Weasleys were good to him, but he couldn't really talk with any of them about this when he was still supposed to be with Ginny. And Ginny or not, he certainly couldn't play with sex toys in a room he shared with Ron. It might be better if he left for a while.

He was still considering that when he returned to Diagon Alley. Maybe he could return to Hogwarts early? He had heard that they were still working on the reconstruction; they must be able to use extra help. Borrowing a Weasley owl would be awkward, though. He stopped at that thought, turning to survey the reconstructed shops. A few things were still closed, and more had changed -- Fortescue's, for example, was now a tea shop -- but he could see Eeylop's Owl Emporium, back in its old location. The storefront was lighter and cleaner, but the old sign had been rehung. He felt a pang of grief as he looked at it. He still missed Hedwig -- he'd always miss Hedwig -- but maybe it was time to have an owl of his own again.

The snowy owls -- three of them -- were prominently placed, but he found he couldn't bear to look at them, even though it had been a year. Turning in the other direction, he saw something quite different -- a single tawny and black patterned owl with long, high horns -- or, well, feather tufts -- that looked almost like the antennae on a particularly dramatic moth or the ears on an attentive cottontail rabbit. He stepped closer. It had an upright stance, and held its wings down at its sides, like Snape drawing in his robes in a huff, but the effect was far more benign in a medium-sized owl.

"Ah," the shopkeeper said. "Interested in the long-eared owl, are you? We haven't been carrying them for long, and this young gentleman is our only one, at the moment. They're naturally entirely nocturnal, which is a disadvantage for some business correspondence, but hardy and loyal."

"Mm." Harry knew this was what he wanted, but he tried to keep the interest from his voice as he extended a knuckle to the bars, testing the bird's manners. The owl tasted him with polite restraint. Afterwards, he stretched up again, very tall and narrow, with the ear tufts extending the dark lines of his face.

"He's elegant," Harry said, despite his best intentions.

"Have you kept your own owl before?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I had a snowy, but she died."

The man drew back. "Died, did she?" he said sharply. "You're a young man to have had a snowy owl die."

"She was hexed!" Harry said indignantly.

"How? Owls usually know enough to avoid trouble."

"I had her in her cage!"

"And so she couldn't get away, could she? Did she _need _to be in her cage?"

Defeated, Harry focused on the owl, which had let its eyes almost close. "No," he admitted. "I thought it would be easier for her. I still miss her." He reached a knuckle out to the bars again. One of the owl's eyes opened. "How much for this one?"

"I'm not sure I'll sell to you," the man said frostily, and Harry turned indignantly. He expected an apology when the man saw his face -- or his scar, anyway -- but the shopkeeper just raised his nose further. "Carelessness with a fine bird like that. They can live over thirty years!"

Flummoxed, Harry stared for a moment. He'd never heard this sort of criticism about Hedwig's death, and it had been in the papers! Brushing his hair back, he spotted his hand -- more slender and darker than it should have been -- and realized that he still had a glamour up. He dropped it.

"We hadn't expected that many Death Eaters," he said coldly.

The man's eyes widened. "Mr. Potter!"

"Sorry," Harry said. "Forgot I still had a glamour up. And I expect you know the story of my Hedwig."

Nervously, the man nodded. "Begging your pardon, sir, but you still should have let her fly."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I'll remember that. I was always good to her, though; I swear I was." He nodded at the long-eared owl. "Let this one out? I want to meet him."

With anxious speed, the man opened the cage. Harry was relieved, but his respect for the man plummeted. "Good steady birds, as I said," the shopkeeper babbled. "You can use a Diurnus charm, should you need him to carry something during the day. Not as long-lived -- eleven years is the most I've seen, but not inclined to illness. I could throw in the cage--"

Harry glared. "You were just recommending _against _cages."

"Ah, but an unfortunate necessity for the first few weeks, until the owl bonds to you. I--"

"_Rent _me a cage then, and sell me a platform and perch."

The man stood with his mouth open for a moment. "What a good idea."

"It does mean I won't use it past when it's needed, doesn't it?" Harry smiled wistfully at the owl, which had finally consented to climb onto his arm. He had already charmed the sleeve against talons. The long-eared owl was half the size Hedwig had been, but he knew lightening and shrinking charms now, so he should suffice even for packages. "Not that my uncle would have put up with that, but he doesn't matter anymore."

  


He left the shop with a new, friendly owl, but also the advice that he not use it for distance carrying for the next two weeks. He had reached the post office just as they were closing.

"Is it urgent, love?" called the woman there, pausing in lowering the window shutter.

"Not really," he answered reluctantly.

"If a fire call will do, you can ask old Tom, in the Leaky Cauldron. He has a private grate he'll let for that."

"Thanks," Harry said, more cheerfully, and he hurried back to the pub.

 

A few minutes later, he was in a private room with a small grate. He kindled the fire there, threw in a handful of powder, and called for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster's Office.

As he had hoped, Professor McGonagall's tendency to keep office hours before dinner held. She was in.

"Harry!" She jumped to her feet, alarmed. "What is it, Mr. Potter?"

He waved his hands slightly across each other to quell her alarm. "Nothing's wrong, Professor. I have a favor to ask of you, and hope you'll hear me out."

"Ah." She sat in one of the antique armchairs by the fire, slightly stiffer now she wasn't poised for a crisis. "Of course. Proceed."

"Well...." He sat as well, in the one of the pub's more utilitarian wooden chairs. "I have some things to deal with, from the battle....."

"As is to be expected." She eyed him with a touch of reproach. "As do many others."

"Yes, of course, but the thing is -- I think the Burrow isn't the best place for me. For one thing, everyone seems to feel I should be taking it easy, but that just makes me feel useless, which I hate. And for another, it's too busy to think." He glanced up at her, and she looked back in challenge. "So," he continued, "I was hoping you might let me come and help with rebuilding Hogwarts. There must be things I can learn to do. And then I could work at something that matters to me during the day, and have my evenings for thinking."

After considering this for several long seconds, she inclined her head. "An excellent plan, Mr. Potter, and we would be most glad of your assistance. However, I do have one caveat."

"That I'll need to actually work?"

She tsked. "That is part and parcel of your own proposal, young man; I trust you meant it. No, it is this: I will not refuse this same favor to your friends so that you may avoid them. If Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley -- or Miss Weasley -- wish to follow you here, and you do not want that, you are the one who must try to dissuade them."

Harry nodded readily. "That makes sense." Hermione, he thought, would understand, and she could handle Ron for him. "I agree."

"Very good." McGonagall rose from her chair. "Then you may arrive at any time tomorrow morning. I expect you to be ready to work immediately after lunch."

Harry grinned. "Yes, Professor."


	2. Retreat

The rebuilding of Hogwarts was as exhausting a job as Harry had wanted, occupying his body and his magic to such an extent that his mind would quiet during the day. After a rest and a good dinner, he -- like most of the staff and others working at the school -- would retire to his room. And there, he had the new experience of total privacy. There were no roommates to hear him breathe, no hateful relatives a room away, no Hermione behind a thin fabric wall. He was on his own, at least twenty yards from his nearest neighbor, and protected by a thick, muffling door and thicker stone. He could read anything, do anything, call out anyone's name, and no one would know.

Here, he decided to take David's advice.

The first evening, he just read two chapters of the book on bisexual identity, which turned out to be a collection of essays. One of them he couldn't relate to at all, while the other was almost exactly what he was going through -- well, without the quasi-incestuous dreams, but with just as much unexpected upheaval at his age -- a year later, actually. It made him feel better.

The second evening, he read the _Sex with Health _leaflet, and wondered how much was different with magic. He thought he might actually be able to ask Madam Pomfrey; she'd seen him in so many humiliating states that it was hard to be embarrassed around her, and he knew she kept secrets. Or maybe he could go back to Diagon Alley with his invisibility cloak and look in Flourish and Blotts. For that matter, perhaps there was something in the Hogwarts library, and he didn't have to deal with shops at all. Putting that thought aside, he started on the sex book. Though not presented as sexy, the possibilities left him needing to wank.

The third night, he was finally ready to look at one of the magazines. He started with one he'd picked out because the man on the cover reminded him of Sirius. He didn't _look _like Sirius, really, but he had dark hair, and bold primitive tattoos, and a devilish smile. He looked _like _Sirius.

There was quite a long spread of him. In the first shot, he was leaning casually in a doorway (like Sirius!) with his black jeans undone and pushed teasingly down -- not enough to see anything, just enough to wonder if you might. Harry undid his dressing gown and, leaving the smooth fabric underneath him, lay back against the arm of the sofa. He had both lubricants out, and dispensed some of the thinner one onto his right hand, spreading it over his cock and shivering at the feel of it. With his left hand, he turned the page.

The jeans were further down, now -- just far enough for the model also to have his hand around his entirely visible cock. It didn't look like any that Harry had studied (just his own, for that level of detail) or dreamed about. It was a smooth tan length with no foreskin, showing the flared curve from the base of a marginally larger head. The tip showed a hint of the red that he expected, but only a hint, though the man was definitely fully erect. His wide hand covered barely half of the shaft. Harry pumped slowly at his own cock as he looked up at the man's face -- head half turned away, but his gaze direct under lush, dark lashes.

"Yeah," Harry muttered, speeding up his movements. The lube was slicker than anything he'd previously tried. "Know you're hot, don't you?" He turned the page again.

This picture, rather than facing an advert, took up both pages. There was another man, blond and slight, standing open-mouthed in a facing door. His shirt was open, and under it he wore a tight bathing suit that highlighted the ridge of his hard cock. The tip peeked out above the shiny fabric. Harry wanted to rip it off him, take that prick in his hand, in his mouth.... Suddenly, the dark-haired man wasn't Sirius. It was him. This astonished newcomer was looking at him. Sirius was behind him, instead, stroking him.... Harry closed his eyes for a moment. He shouldn't imagine this was Sirius -- that his own hand around his cock was Sirius. He licked his lips. On the other hand, that wasn't doing any harm, was it? Sirius was gone. He needed to figure this out. He couldn't imagine Sirius would object to a fantasy, once he wasn't actually here. _Safe_, David had said.

His eyes flicked down to the blond's erection, drank it in, and drifted up again. _Nice package_, he said in his mind. _Want to show me more?_ On the next page, of course, that was just what was happening. The blond was in just his shirt, now, bathing suit discarded steps behind him, leaning his upper body back as he thrust his pelvis forward, rubbing his cock against the other's cock and knuckles.

_So fucking hot_, Harry's imaginary Sirius muttered in his ear. _You like looking at them, don't you? And I like you hard in my hand._

Sirius, Harry decided, should be hard up against him, but the sofa was a smooth curve. He Summoned the butt plug. It wasn't half the size that he imagined his godfather's cock, but it was the closest thing he had. He slicked it up and jammed it between the cushions behind him, so that his crack rubbed up against the side of it when he moved.

"Sirius," he whispered, and in his head, Sirius laughed, low and dangerous, and he turned the page.

The blond was on his knees now, his eyes closed, and his open mouth worshipping the side of the dark-haired man's cock. The man's fingers twisted in his hair.

"God," Harry moaned. "Do that," and he wasn't looking at porn with Sirius any more. Instead, Sirius was pulsing his grip on the root of his cock as the blond sucked him....

... which was the next page. Harry pushed back against the butt plug while his hand flew over his cock. He didn't think he wanted the plug _in_ \-- that seemed too scary -- but it felt amazing against him. He twisted for just long enough to cast an Engorgement charm, making it the right size for Sirius. "God, yeah, please..." He pressed back hard, rubbing, rubbing ... and slowly working his way up, so that dangerous center moved closer and closer to the tip, until finally he _tilted _and _pressed _and _came_.

Without cleaning charms, the magazine would have been trash.

 

The next day was Friday. At lunch, Headmistress McGonagall beckoned Harry to come sit beside her, which made him nervous. Was he in trouble? It was a foolish, student way to think, he told himself, but he couldn't help but feel apprehensive as he settled in the indicated chair.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter," she said politely. "Are you settling in?"

"Yes, er...." He felt lost. "Thank you," he added.

"You're quite welcome. Professor Flitwick tells me that you've been a fast study at masonry repair charms."

Harry grinned, delighted at the compliment, even if it was a tradesman's skill. "Well, I suppose that gives me a fallback job option," he said lightly.

McGonagall tsked. "Not without an apprenticeship, and you can most certainly do better. I did understand correctly, did I not, that you plan to finish your schooling and sit N.E.W.T.s?

Harry nodded. "Yeah. All three of us will. Though it will be a bit odd, being older than everyone else."

Her eyebrows rose. "Potter. You, of all people, should pay more attention to the news. Almost three quarters of your year will be returning in September."

"Three...." He tried to calculate how it could possibly be that many, but couldn't. "There were the three of us, and Luna, but she's younger, and the Muggle-born students, and probably a few others...."

"And the Ministry Board of Examinations has decreed last year's curriculum morally and practically insufficient for qualification for the N.E.W.T.s."

"Oh!"

"A few students are moving on without them -- it is possible, you know, for some careers -- and a few have gone abroad for a finishing year. The majority, however, are returning, posing interesting logistical challenges."

"The dormitories are only enough for seven years." Harry was speaking as he thought, but Professor McGonagall nodded.

"Correct. And the staff schedule was already full."

"How will that work, then?"

"For lessons?" Her lips thinned. "We are extending school hours and adding Saturday morning lessons, but eighth-year students will still be largely working independently. I have brought in a tutor for those who need extra help." For a brief moment, she smiled. "I must emphasize to Miss Granger that she will not qualify. Nor will Mr. Malfoy."

"Malfoy's coming back?" Harry yelped.

"Yes. I will admit that it gave me pause, but he seems contrite. I have told him -- as some others -- that I will be keeping a close eye on his behavior."

Harry thought back to Malfoy Manor, both from his own memories and from visions, and how miserable and afraid his old rival had looked. "No," he said slowly. "I think he's learned his lesson."

"Mm. There is none so sharp as getting exactly what we had asked for, is there?"

"Yeah. Poor sod. I felt sorry for him, really, stuck kowtowing to Voldemort."

"Hm." McGonagall cleared her throat. "Well, perhaps you can keep an eye on him for me."

"From Gryffindor?"

"As you noted, there is no room in Gryffindor for your year. We are creating eighth-year dormitories on the first floor." She raised her hand to forestall Harry's protest. "They will still be divided by house -- four for the young women and four for the young men -- but with one Common Room. You may, of course, continue to use the Gryffindor Common Room during the day, up until dinner time."

"But I'll be in classes."

"Not on Sunday, or on Saturday afternoon." She sighed. "Also, in the interest of fairness, eighth-year students will be outside the house point system."

"Brilliant!"

"I can still give you detention, Mr. Potter," she said, smiling. "And -- you will not like this one -- you will not play on the Quidditch teams."

"But--!"

"I'm afraid it is necessary. It is hardly fair to the younger children, after all. The seventh-years should have the chance to be the wisest, largest, most experienced players."

"Because it's too late for us."

"I'm afraid so. I could not control your circumstance. I can set theirs."

"I suppose," Harry said gloomily.

"However, in compensation, I am giving your year permission to use brooms on the grounds. That extends to the pitch during hours that the house teams are not using it."

"Oh." That sounded promising. "Well, all right, then. We'll manage something."

Her face brightened as she smiled. "I expect you will! Oh, and Harry?"

"Mm?"

"Until school starts, we do not work on weekends. If any of those letters you have received this week are invitations, I suggest you consider them. You are too young for your refuge to become a hermitage."

 

Quite a few were invitations, Harry thought glumly, as he looked over rolls and folds of parchment later that afternoon. He didn't so much mind the one from the Weasleys ("Come for a Sunday dinner", separately from three of them), but the one from Andromeda Tonks -- the fourth he had received this summer -- preyed on his mind. He ought to see his godson -- he should _want _to see his godson -- but he didn't think he could. It made no sense that he should feel this way about Lupin due to a few dreams -- Sirius did a lot more in the dreams anyway -- but he couldn't bear to think about the child. And that was ridiculous too, because he was only a few months old. Harry thought. Four months, he was fairly sure. That evening with Remus at Shell Cottage seemed like it had been years ago. The dreams were closer.

Sighing, he straightened his shoulders. This was stupid. He would go see the baby, who was too young to ask questions, and try to behave himself. Was there some way to make it a short visit? Saturday afternoon -- could he claim a dinner appointment? In a flash, he recalled Hagrid and Flitwick inviting him to drinks at the Three Broomsticks on Saturday afternoon. He'd begged off, but if he caught them at dinner, he could say he had reconsidered, and then he'd only have time for a short visit with Andromeda and Teddy.

That settled, he decided it was time to deal with the other thing he had been avoiding: anal penetration. This, at least, he had hopes would be good once he started, because he had _almost_, and that had been brilliant. He had two hours until dinner, and no one was likely to come looking for him, and it seemed like the sort of thing to not try after dinner.

The book suggested trying with your fingers first -- with, of course, a glove. At first he'd thought that was to keep his fingers clean, which he could have done with a spell, but it turned out to also be for not scratching, and he didn't know a charm to smooth his nails and calluses. He transfigured the form of one of the condoms easily enough and pulled it on, squeezing the air of the fingertips with an amusingly rude noise. After that, he took some of the thick lube and started trying to actually get his fingers in.

What the book hadn't mentioned was that it was rather hard to reach one's own arse. On his knees and one hand worked, but balancing was awkward. On his back, or reclining, he strained to stretch. He tried lying on his side, and that did the trick. If he tucked up his knees, he could reach easily. Rubbing on the outside was almost as good as it had been while he was wanking, but when he coaxed a fingertip in -- how would more than that ever fit? -- it was harder to say. It felt strange at first, and then good, but good in a strange way that went up his gut. And he hadn't realized how much that muscle could move, clenching and opening with his touches. Unable to repress his curiosity about how dirty this actually was, he pulled the fingertip out and looked at the glove. He was surprised not to see visible brown. Maybe a tinge at the tip? That was encouraging. Maybe he could actually try this as sex, now, instead of anatomy.

Absently, he stroked along his crack, trying to think what this would be like, as sex. Sirius sucking on his cock was obviously pleasure, but how would he lead into this? He pictured both, suddenly: Sirius underneath him, sucking on his cock, while his slicked up finger nudged at Harry's opening. Lupin was pulling his shirt up; crossly, Harry edited that out. _Shh_, Sirius soothed. _A finger won't hurt_. Harry pushed in with the fantasy, going deeper now than before, and indeed, it didn't hurt. It didn't even feel like enough. He rocked back, and it still wasn't enough, and the angle was wrong. "God," he muttered, and tried a second, but that was too much. He switched, one and two, until it occurred to him to use his thumb. That was perfect. He wished he could wank at the same time, but there wasn't room for his hand the way he'd crossed his thighs to open his arse. He could only rub across the head. He tried up on his knees and still couldn't reach behind himself sufficiently.

That's why the plug, he realized. And he could keep that in place with a charm, if he wanted, or even make it move a little. He slicked it up and tried and was able to roll onto his back.

And that -- God! -- was perfect. Deeper and fuller, and he still had the strange feeling in his gut, but it didn't bother him now. His balls twitched at little sparks of feeling as he made the plug move slowly in and out, and he wrapped his hand around his cock and got down to it.

_Sirius again? Yeah,_ he thought dizzily, _Sirius_. _Bet you missed this. Haven't had anyone to fuck here, have you? But you can fuck me. _

_Not yet_, Sirius answered fondly, reminding him that wasn't nearly his cock that was giving him that delirious, floaty, full, strange feeling. Harry didn't think he'd be able to take more. He was already half-mad with it, moaning and cursing, and not able to say what he wanted -- so unlike touching his cock where he knew his desire of the moment -- faster, slower, harder, lighter. This was so strange and new and hard to map back to the motion of the moment, and he'd completely lost his fantasy. Had Sirius been sucking him? No, he'd been sucking Sirius. But that didn't work -- oh, over. He was kneeling over Sirius, and they were sucking each other, and Sirius had a finger or two up his arse.

He moved up to his knees to better imagine it, imagine rocking back and forth between sensations, but his moans were too clear, and there was nothing in his mouth. Desperately, he slid a finger between his lips, but that wouldn't do -- his knuckles. He sucked on his knuckles, pushing one up, and that was almost it, almost the right stretch, almost making his mouth water like....

He came with a muffled shout and collapsed onto the bed. It took a moment to stop the butt plug, but that was all right. He extracted it, took the glove off his hand, and immediately fell asleep.

He dreamed of Sirius, though he couldn't have said what he was doing. He was just _there_, and it was good.

 

"Harry!" Andromeda said brightly, pushing cheer past tired eyes in a way that reminded him all too much of Sirius. "I'm so glad you could finally make it."

"It's good to see you," he said, as he didn't have any excuses. To his relief, there was no baby in sight. "I'm afraid I've been a bit of a recluse since the battle."

She wrinkled her nose. "The funerals were rather enough social whirl for anyone, until recently."

Regret caught in his throat. "I'm sorry. Finding the Horcruxes took so much time...."

"Harry, love!" she exclaimed. "I'm not blaming you. Enough to put defeating a nasty piece of work like Voldemort on a boy barely grown -- no one should expect that you'd do it _faster_."

"But it could have been faster," he protested. "If I'd understood earlier, if I'd had better plans--"

With a contemptuous snort, she tilted her nose in the air just like Narcissa at her haughtiest. "Oh, if we were all _perfect_, everything would be different," she said. "It's no wonder you don't want to see anyone, if that's what you think to be held to. Sit down, Harry, and I'll start the tea."

Harry sat, gingerly, on an obviously antique sofa, and wondered how he was supposed to behave. He had met Andromeda Tonks only a few times, but she had obviously decided that he should be treated with the familiarity of family. He supposed that made sense, between Sirius and Teddy, but he wasn't sure he could mimic it. He didn't understand family, really. It had taken years to get close to that feeling with the Weasleys, and even now, he was capable of dropping completely out of their lives for a month with only a brief, false explanation.

Andromeda came back with a tea service and biscuits on a tray. She set it down on the low table, moved a plate of biscuits off to the side, and sat in a chair in front of the window, where sunlight drew gold from her brown hair.

"I don't know what you like, dear, so I brought out an assortment. Teddy's down for a nap, but I hope that he'll wake before you need to leave."

"Ah." Harry took a Jaffa cake. "I'll probably be better with him when he's older, anyway."

She smiled, softening the severity of her cheekbones. "Poor boy! You didn't have any time to get used to the idea of a baby in your life, did you?"

"No. That baby was supposed to have two doting parents, and my job was to remind his father of that when he panicked."

"Ah? That sounds like a story."

Oh hell. He hadn't been thinking. "Not really," he lied. "Lu-- Remus needed a bit of calming down when Tonks was pregnant, that's all."

"Mm. I admit there were a few weeks when I was afraid he would bolt." At a soft chime, she leaned forward to tend to the tea. "You weren't close, then?"

"Not really," Harry answered, although he was not quite sure what he would have said in April. "He was one of my favorite professors, but after that I think we largely saw each other as connections to people we'd lost -- Sirius, my parents...."

"Ah, Sirius!" Andromeda smiled wistfully. "I never saw him after Azkaban. It was a shock when Dora...." She trailed off, biting her lip.

"He never got over it," Harry volunteered, desperate to move the conversation away from the more recently dead. "If he'd lived long enough --" On the other hand, that wasn't much better.

"Ah, but then I'd be unlikely to have a grandchild," Andromeda said, rallying. "Certainly, I never saw Remus have eyes for anyone else when they were young men."

"You know they were lovers then?" Harry asked, relieved.

"Well, they never said as much," Andromeda answered, with a lofty wave. "But they were here for dinner a time or two, and I certainly thought it clear. Even Ted could tell." She shifted in her seat. "Would you like to see pictures? I have a few of them at around twenty, and more of Sirius when he was younger."

"That would be brilliant!" Harry said spontaneously and Andromeda beamed.

"I may even have some with your parents," she said. "We attended one of your father's parties, before that sort of thing became too dangerous. Hm, what year would that have been?"

 

To Harry's surprise, the two hours passed swiftly, and for the most part, pleasantly. He managed to conceal how recent pictures of Lupin -- even safely standing next to Tonks -- made him tense. For the most part, they looked at old ones, in which Sirius and Lupin where like characters in a well-loved story -- familiar, but not quite the people he had known. Young Remus had a gentle, quiet look that he couldn't connect to the man in his recent dreams. Harry wondered if he was manifesting some belated, repressed prejudice against werewolves.

Teddy still hadn't wakened when it was time for him to leave, but Andromeda insisted on leading Harry into the nursery to see him. He was a chubby baby, sucking contentedly on his thumb, but his hair was a crayon orange-yellow, and Harry could see a trace of Remus in the lines of his cheeks. As he thought that, the hair shifted to grey and brown, and Andromeda gave a little sob. "Poor lamb. He still remembers."

Swallowing hard, Harry stepped back. This was his godson, an orphaned baby. He ought to love him. For the moment, though, he just wanted to run away.

 

The next week passed peacefully enough, except for the dreams becoming longer and more detailed. His fantasy of Sirius pushing a finger into him while he sucked him off had become a regular feature, although he couldn't get Lupin out of it while he slept. On the next weekend, Harry begged off visiting Andromeda and Teddy, but did go to Sunday dinner at the Burrow. Everyone asked him about Hogwarts, so he told them how it was coming along, and that there would be special dormitories for eighth-years.

"Oh!" Ginny exclaimed sadly. "We won't be able to see each other in the evenings, then?"

"Afraid not," Harry said easily. "But I'll still be around more."

"We have to share a common room with Slytherins?" Ron groused. "After last year?"

"I don't think there are very many of them," Harry put in, pretending not to notice Ginny's sad look. "Malfoy, I've heard, and Parkinson, but Crabbe's dead, and Zabini is taking the Italian examinations, and Goyle is probably settling for O.W.L.s."

 

School would start soon, he realized, when he got back to Hogwarts Castle. In a week and a day, the students would return, and he'd be back in a shared dormitory, and he would not be able to lounge around reading gay porn and playing with sex toys. He wanted to do more while he could, he decided. He'd never quite got to Sirius fucking him, really.

With a shiver of excitement, he got out the butt plug and settled on the bed, imagining Sirius sucking him, and then rubbing his finger there, and then casually pushing it in while his mouth took Harry deep. _Just my finger_, he said, but then it was his thumb, and then _just a little more?_ he suggested. "God, yes," Harry muttered as he pushed the butt plug in, but it wasn't much wider than his thumb, so he pulled it out and enlarged it just a little, then worked it back in.

_Hot boy, _Sirius whispered. _Want to fuck you. Want that, Harry?_

"Yeah." Harry tried another enlarging spell, one that brought the plug almost to the size of his own cock. In sudden inspiration, he used a sticking spell to attach it to a stiff bolster, so it pointed straight up. Coming up on his knees, he circled his hole over it, pulsing down lightly when he wanted more.

_Yeah_, Sirius said. _Your ride, angel. You choose._

That made him need more. He pushed down at least a couple of inches and cried out. For a moment, he had to stop and breathe, and then to back up and get more lube, but the next time it was deeper, and then it was all the way.

He came screaming for Sirius, and for a minute, just knelt there, staring at the wall and waiting for his vision to clear.

_Well, that's that, then, _he thought. _Definitely bi. Definitely with a mad crush on my dead godfather._

The thought didn't bother him as much as it should have. Perhaps the orgasm had been too good. He cleaned up sleepily and climbed under the covers.

 

_He could hear them kissing, feel the bed shift. Someone was taking off Lupin's clothes. _

_"We'll wake up Harry."_

_"Doesn't matter. I'm going to Obliviate him anyway."_

_The voices continued, going in and out, arguing about the costs and benefits of memory. _

_"-- a lot of awkward experimentation --" _

_"--wondering if that's what you want when you hug him? If you'll like him more if he sucks your prick?" _

_"Nothing could make me like him more." _

 

"Sirius!" Harry moaned.

He woke, but not soon enough to block the ghost sensation of a wandtip against his head. For several minutes, he lay still, absorbing the shock of the blow. Finally, he groped for his own wand, pulled it from the bedside table, and lit the fire. He was alone in the room. He sat up.

"Fuck. It actually happened."

 

When he woke the next morning, he fought the certainty. Did dreaming something was real make it any more likely to _be _real? Still, he _felt _it was real. He and Sirius had had sex, and Lupin had obliviated him, ostensibly to protect him. There were other reasons, though. Lupin wouldn't have wanted Harry to remember his behavior. He'd also been jealous.

The dreams, Harry realized then, had started as soon as Lupin died. And Lupin had promised Sirius to make the memories recoverable. So maybe that was it? He had done what he'd said, and he spell had weakened with his death?

_Or maybe_, he thought sourly, _I'm delusional and doing my usual excellent job of justifying what I've decided to believe._

Fortunately, morning duties found him working with Professor Flitwick again, helping to rebuild a wall. He worked his way over into conversational range.

"Professor?"

"Oh, please do call me Filius, Harry! School's not even in session. What is it?"

Harry blushed. He had been calling the little man Filius for the past two weeks. "Er -- I had a charms question."

"Ah!" Flitwick said cheerily. "And it put you into a student mindset. Very well. Ask away!"

"About, um, memory charms. Is there a sort that would weaken when the person who cast it died?"

Flitwick beamed. "Why yes!" he said. "We call that a Memory Blocking charm. It's quite different from old Obliviation, of course. Primarily, such things are used in inheritance, for timely restoration of the memory of a will and its location to the executor of an estate."

"Oh." _It happened. That settles it. _The world tilted and took a minute to right itself.

"Are you quite all right?"

"Well, it's just...." Harry shrugged. "Sirius told me a few things, and Lupin made me forget them, I think. I've been having dreams of this conversation since the night he died, and last night I dreamed he -- Lupin -- was telling Sirius he'd make me forget, and Sirius didn't want him to, and he said he wouldn't destroy the memory, but it would have to be later...."

Flitwick nodded. "That sounds quite like a memory block! If it was a long conversation -- not within standard use -- the full memory might take some months to rebuild." He was visibly curious. When he didn't ask questions, Harry appreciated his restraint. "Would you like the titles of a few references? We have books in the library that will show you how to speed the process, though you might need a pensieve for full retrieval."

"That would be brilliant, thanks!" Harry tried to even his voice. "I don't think it was anything too important, but I hate to have lost anything from him."

"Understood, my boy, understood!" Filius said, with that squeak that he sometimes got when emotional. "I'm happy to be able to help."

 

With the information from Filius, it took only a few days for Harry to regain the full memory, but knowing all of what had happened left him feeling more confused than ever. Late one night, long after he should have fallen asleep, he found himself lying awake, harried by restless thoughts. "So if it happened," he said aloud, forcing the threat to take form, "am I actually attracted to men at all? Or was that just the memory messing with how I think?" He couldn't really believe that was all of it. After all, he had been enjoying his experiments, not just plodding stubbornly through them. David's advice about trying out fantasies still seemed valid, and he certainly got off to fantasies about men, or at least about Sirius. And Sirius had implied that Harry had discovered things during their encounter, and in Harry's mind, the most startling of those had been that he liked giving oral sex to a man. Of course he had liked _receiving _it -- who wouldn't? But the way he'd liked the feel of cock in his mouth -- that had surprised him. And Sirius had thought he'd have found that out eventually, which meant Sirius thought he was too bent to escape trying it. Remus hadn't wanted him hurt by sex confusing his feelings for Sirius -- or he had been afraid of the competition.

Sighing, Harry reached for one of the magazines, and paging to his favorite spread, started half-heartedly to wank. At best, it was an experiment; at worst it would help him sleep. He tried to imagine Sirius behind him, the way he had the first night, but he kept seeing Lupin instead. Sirius in his mouth-- That didn't work either, although it should have. He tossed the magazine aside and tried for just after he and Sirius had reached the bed, before Lupin appeared. What if he'd been a little faster at getting past those robes? Or better yet, if they hadn't been interrupted downstairs. Sirius was pulling on his cock, kissing him....

Lupin again. Harry told himself that this was a _fantasy_, not a memory. He could get past Sirius's robes, get that thick cock in his hand.

It went round in circles, unproductive and frustrating, his hand stilling and starting again as he dozed off and revived, never quite managing to get to the good parts....

 

_He was with Sirius, in the library, and desperately trying to work a hand inside his robes. He had to touch him, had to please him, had to make it perfect. _

_"Harry," Sirius said intently, which seemed good, but then he caught at Harry's wrist and wouldn't let him get further. "Stop. Please. That's not what I want from you." _

_Harry looked at him desperately. "I love you," he choked, and Sirius reached around his head, fingers carding through his hair, and pulled him forward, resting his forehead against Harry's. The world seemed to go still around them, around his firm touch and the bite of whisky on his breath. _

_"I know," he said gently. "I love you too, you know. Always did."_

_Harry bit his lip. "May I sit in your lap?"_

_"Any time," Sirius answered, his sudden smile dazzling, and Harry clambered onto him. The position was awkward, but just what he wanted. Sirius wrapped an arm around him, and Harry dropped his head onto the man's shoulder, taking in his scent. He cried. _

 

When he woke, his eyes were not wet, but they were itchy, as if he might actually have cried in his sleep. For all that, he felt more peaceful then he had since the battle; Sirius had seemed more like a visitation than a dream, and he felt _loved_, which was unusual, but wonderfully so.

The windows were dark, but the fire still burning. Rolling over, Harry found the magazine still where he left it, open to the blond mouthing the dark-haired man's cock. His own gave an interested twitch. "Not entirely Sirius then," he murmured. In the fading firelight, the photos looked almost like they would move. "But this one is too...." This set of pictures was messed up with Sirius in his mind, he knew. He leaned off the edge of the bed and fumbled underneath it for the other magazine, and found a spread with two athletic-looking, if rather bland, brown-haired blokes in a variety of positions, and accepted that the men were strangers. Where would he have met them? He opened the wrong door in a Muggle hotel, found them together, was invited to join in....

That did it. He fisted his cock furiously, sucked on his other hand, imagined these strangers calling him hot, and came all over the sheets.

He fell asleep to the light of dawn.


	3. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, sex with a prostitute, and bad pickup lines

Harry woke to high, bright sunlight. He had missed breakfast, and possibly lunch, but at least it was Saturday, so he hadn't disappointed Professor McGonagall by sleeping through his duties. By the time he had showered and dressed, the full impact of the last few days was sinking in. He wasn't bothered by what he and Sirius had done, but he still felt betrayed by Lupin, who should have known better -- _had _known better -- but had gone along with it, and then blocked the memory, as if that made it all right. _Or as if what happened to me after he died didn't matter._

He used his owl -- named Godwin, after Harry had decided to stick to Old English names -- to send a letter to Mrs. Weasley saying that he wouldn't visit this weekend, and then he set out for the Three Broomsticks, and a Floo he could use without answering questions.

 

"Sir? We're just about to close for the night."

Harry turned to look at the young woman. She was indeed holding a set of keys. Harry had pushed past the last customer leaving Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and now stood just over the threshold. "It's all right," he said, watching her eyes -- predictably -- widen as she took in his face and his scar. "I'm here to see George."

"Oh!" She bit her lip. "Mister Weasley is in back, or possibly upstairs. I can call him for you if you wish."

"Please."

"Just let me lock up first." She smiled cheerily. "Before someone else wanders in!"

 

"Harry?" George asked bemusedly. He still looked as haggard as the last time Harry had seen him, several weeks back, and a little bit unfocused. Harry suspected he still wasn't eating or sleeping much, and wondered if he was also on some sort of potion. He felt horrible violating that grief with complaints against the former twins, but there was no way around it other than to let the matter fester. And that, really, had gone on long enough.

"Hi," he said. "I need to talk to you. Someplace private."

"If it's about your investment--"

"No, George. And _private_."

George sighed. "Come upstairs, then. You'll have to cope with the mess."

"Sure," Harry agreed.

Still, he was put off by the state of the upstairs flat. He wasn't fussy, by any means, but there were papers and clothing and dishes and bits of food everywhere, and a bug scurried out of the way when he moved a cushion on the sofa. Annoyed, Harry blasted the entire piece of furniture with a strong cleaning charm and then sat. George scowled and sat on the other end, his arms folded across his chest.

"What's so important, Harry?"

"When I was fifteen--"

"Not important then."

"Shut up. You and--" Harry stumbled as George cringed, but he forced himself to go on. "You and Fred left some doctored ginger biscuits in the library."

George stared at him incredulously. "You want to talk about--"

"Sirius and I had sex. With each other. Lupin _instructed _me -- us."

"You..." George wilted. "I--"

"Lupin blocked the memory. It started coming back the night he died. Filius Flitwick pointed me to a source on getting it all back, and I have."

"I...." George flailed. "Look, there's nothing I can do."

"I want to know about it."

"Pardon?"

"What it was. What else you know about what it did. Lupin said you told him it wasn't an aphrodisiac, it just suppressed inhibitions, but it was more than that. I was obsessed with pleasing Sirius. I _had _to."

"Yes." George nodded. "Yes. That was why we dropped that one. Obsession. Something like that."

"Something like that."

"_Yes. _Harry, it was F-- I mean, it wasn't my re-- I helped develop it, okay? And we tried it on a few people, but it was when F-- Fred--" George gulped. "--tried it on Alicia that he said we had to drop it."

"And you don't know what happened?" Harry asked mercilessly.

"I wasn't paying attention! I was working on something else by then!"

"George, I'm sorry, but I really need some idea of what was going through Lupin's head."

"What about Sirius?"

"Sirius was just having fun. Lupin glared like he hated me and made me -- us -- go further. If Sirius hadn't worked at making it all enjoyable, I'd be wrecked."

"Look, Harry, I'm sorry you were uncomfortable, and it was stupid of--" George hesitated and swallowed. "Us," he finished. "We didn't think it could do any harm--"

"Bollocks! You were sniggering about how Snape might _kill _people."

"Which was why we were staying in the hallway."

"So? People could apparate in and out. I had an invisibility cloak. There were any number of ways for someone to get by you with a well-chosen hex, and I wouldn't put it past Sirius to not mention a secret passage if it gave him ready access to whisky."

"We were careless, all right? But all that is bloody paranoid!" George let out a breath, and ran his hands through his hair. "It was just a bit of fun."

"Fun," Harry repeated icily.

"Well, you said you enjoyed it."

"I enjoyed sex with Sirius, yeah. I didn't enjoy Lupin staring and pushing us to do more. And I was going round the twist over it all coming back in dreams, in bits and pieces--"

"It's not our fault he blocked the memory!"

"It's your fault he did things he didn't want me to remember!" Harry hesitated. "Or at least that Sirius did. I'm not sure Lupin _is _your fault, which is worse. I can't even _think _about his son. And I've been outright avoiding your sister--"

"What does _Ginny _have to do with this?"

"NOTHING, all right? Absolutely nothing!"

"You said--"

"Sirius was fucking brilliant. Sex with him was." Harry slumped back, his rage fading to embarrassment. "What if it's not as good with a girl?"

"You haven't tried it?"

"Well, no. I thought I'd, you know, wait."

"Harry!" George reached awkwardly over to punch him on the arm. "That's no good. Girls expect men to have a little experience."

"They do?"

"Of course! How else can you make her first time good for her?" George cocked his head to the side and looked slyly at him. "Though I'm surprised she hasn't offered yet."

"Well, she has, actually. I just didn't think it was time."

George's eyebrows rose.

"I mean, before the battle, because I might die or be crippled, and what if she got pregnant or something? And since then, I've had _this_, and I don't want to experiment with her if that might make me say 'oh, sorry, I've realized I'd rather have a dangerous man with interesting tattoos and, um, really big hands....'"

He squirmed as he said the last, but it made George laugh, which helped. For a moment, they regarded each other in silence.

"You're afraid you might be gay," George summarized.

"Well, not afraid, exactly," Harry corrected. "And I _know _I'm not gay -- I do think Ginny's fit, you know. I'm just af-- It's just that I might be more gay than not, and then I'm not sure I could be good for her."

"You mean you'd cheat on her?"

"Yeah. Or just not be interested enough to keep her happy." There was also the worrisome thought that he didn't seem to miss her much when they were apart, but Harry decided not to mention that.

"Look," George said, with a confident slap on Harry's shoulder, "I think you're off your rocker. But all the way around, it's clear what you need. Sex." He raised a hand, when Harry tried to speak. "I happen to know the friendliest place for hired girls in all of London, and they don't check for glamours. It would be quick, easy, and have no complications, and I think you'll find that you've been getting yourself in a lather about nothing."

Harry stared. "You want me to see a prostitute."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Harry didn't. He felt uncomfortable about it, but then, considering how George had reacted when he talked about turning Ginny down, maybe he was just really prudish. After all, fantasizing was easy, but he didn't know how he'd be with a man either, without the influence of whatever had been in the ginger cookies.

"All right," he said. "I suppose that would help."

"You'll love it!" George promised.

 

Harry didn't really expect to love it. He felt uncomfortable with a woman he had never met stroking his chest and telling him he'd be a pleasure to satisfy. He couldn't even have felt flattered if he had believed her, because it wasn't precisely his body she saw, although he had left his form the same, so his appearance wouldn't conflict with her sense of touch.

"I...." He swallowed, pushing down fear and pride. "I'm a virgin. No idea what I'm doing at all."

She laughed pleasantly. "I think you'll find it comes naturally," she said coyly, but moved her touch to his cheek. "Have you kissed?"

"Um, yeah. Quite a bit."

"Let's start with that, then. But this time, you can do anything else you want, right? I'm not going to yelp if your hands start wandering."

That had never been a problem, but it made him grin anyway. She was at least trying to put him at ease. And, he decided with a downwards glance, her breasts looked well worth wandering to. "Sounds good," he agreed, and tilted his head for her kiss.

She kissed well. It was better than kissing Cho, and might have been as good as kissing Ginny if he hadn't been uncomfortably unaware that it didn't mean anything. He slid his hands up under her blouse to distract himself, and she moaned perfectly when he touched her breasts. The practice behind that didn't keep it from being good. He pulled the blouse up and off of her, and ran his hands over her sheer undergarment. (He wasn't sure that that was called. It wasn't a bra, because it went down to her waist.) The pink circles around her nipples showed through the fabric, and he bent to put his mouth on one.

"Mm," she said throatily. "Definitely a natural. Shall I take it off?"

"Yeah," he answered. Encouragingly, his breath was quickening, and he could feel himself growing hard. His body wasn't going to embarrass him, at least.

"Would you undo the hooks?" she asked, turning, and Harry decided George picked his brothels well. He didn't know much about prostitutes, but he suspected most didn't take the time for seductive gestures. Eagerly, he undid the back of her garment. It had a lot of tiny hooks, but it was easy to undo a bunch at once. Her back was too bony and without much muscle, but peeling the garment away still excited him. As it fell clear, he slid his hands forward and under her breasts and pulled her back against him. His hips pushed tight of their own accord and he rubbed back and forth against her arse and sucked on the side of her neck, looking down at the way he was shaping her boobs with his hands.

"Oh," she sighed. "You have such good hands." Her own reached back between them, finding the line of his cock and rubbing it through his jeans. "Want to let that out? I've got a nice warm place for it."

"Yeah," he muttered. That was what he was here for after all -- to fuck her. This pretense of seduction was just to put him at ease. It had done that. He didn't need any more of it. He pushed out of his jeans and lifted her skirts. She took a step to the bed, and then rather than turning, as he'd expected, leaned forward to lay her chest on it, offering up her arse. For a moment, he was confused, but then a quick grope informed him where her cunt was, and that he could reach it this way as well as from the front. It took a little bend of his knees to get in, but then the position was perfect. She was wet -- or at least slicked up -- and her cunt as hot and moist as Sirius's mouth had been. And one thing was better -- he could thrust as much as he liked. Once he recognized that, his body took over, hammering into her hard and deep and fast, while tension built in his bollocks and blood. He did wish she had a nicer back, though, he thought distantly. He should have left her blouse on, really, because this wasn't about her breasts, but about that firm, soft hold around his cock, and the easy slide through it, and....

He cried out when he came, choking on the sound, his hips continuing to ratchet for another several seconds, pumping the last of his release into her. He felt odd that she hadn't come, and that her pleased sounds died immediately away, but he supposed she couldn't climax for each customer -- perhaps she never did. For a moment, he rested against her back, and then pulled reluctantly out. For all that this had been physically better than wanking, he missed the minutes of lying still in unmarred satisfaction enough to bring them even.

The woman turned, dropping her skirts, and smiled at him. "Was that what you wanted?"

"Pretty much," he admitted. He'd done his test, and sex with a woman was good enough. He could imagine it might have been brilliant if she was even a friend. For now, though, he just felt unbalanced. He tipped what George had recommended and returned to Hogwarts, still feeling weird about it.

 

That night, he thought he should try wanking to thoughts of Ginny, and he tried to, but he couldn't get very far. He kept wondering what she'd think of him doing that, and then what she'd think of what he'd done that afternoon, and the embarrassment was enough to make him wilt. Maybe he should tell her; if she slapped him, it might be okay.

His thoughts shifted briefly to Bill, but he decided that was worse. _Luna_, he choose, because she never minded anything, but that made him feel like he was taking advantage. Gentle, willing Luna deserved proper care. He started going through Quidditch teams in search of likely prospects. Zacharias looked a bit like the blond in the porn mag, but Harry couldn't get that to work either. No matter how much he tried to imagine sex with Zacharias, he knew he'd just end up hexing him and walking off.

He suddenly pictured another arrogant blond -- Draco Malfoy, sneering as he leaned on his broom. _No way_, he thought, but his mind was already off without his consent -- as it often was with Malfoy -- imagining crashing into his rival and bearing him down. Since this was his fantasy, no one stopped them. He ground against Malfoy, pressed him down, bit at his mouth. Malfoy writhed under him, spitting like a cat.

"Fuck you," Harry snarled, and the meaning of that changed in an instant. He had Malfoy over the trunk in the Quidditch equipment cupboard. Malfoy was still struggling, but miraculously stretched and ready to be fucked. Some logical corner of Harry's mind insisted on the presence of lube -- oil for the leather would do -- and then he was inside Malfoy, that thick ring of muscle gripping his cock as tightly as his own arse had gripped his fingers, with a pressure he tried instinctively to match with his hand.

_Don't you dare, _he told his fantasy Malfoy, as the Slytherin twisted frantically under him. _You're fucking staying there until I get off. _And because he wouldn't be a total bastard about it, and because it helped explain why he was holding cock, his fantasy self started to pull off Malfoy. And that was just too fucking good. He twisted over and bit himself in the arm, like Malfoy trying to get away, or trying to hold in a cry of pleasure he didn't want to feel, and the pain and the feel of flesh in his mouth pushed him hard over the edge. He sobbed out his pleasure through the gag of skin and muscle, until his mouth relaxed enough to lick at it, and then, gasping between strokes of his tongue, he collapsed limply onto his sheets.

For a while, he could only lie there, thoroughly content, and more relaxed than he had thought was physically possible. Eventually, he rolled onto his back. "Oh fuck," he groaned. "Damn. I better be into Malfoy, because I don't want to be that into rape."

 

At breakfast the next morning, Harry found Slughorn sitting next to Professor McGonagall. Apparently he and the tutor, a Madam Tuttle, had shown up on Saturday while Harry was out. Hestia Jones, of all people, had arrived to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. On second thought, that wasn't too surprising, Harry decided. Now that the curse on the post was (probably) broken, it made sense that McGonagall would draw upon the Order of the Phoenix for a trusted instructor.

Despite it being Sunday, they were all put to work. Professor McGonagall explained that the eighth-year students would be arriving a day early, so that she could explain special arrangements to them. Other than Harry, no one seemed surprised by this. That made it urgent that they finish the eighth-years' living area. To complicate matters, the third floor boys' loo had suddenly decided that it wanted to grow spikes out of every available surface. That might have been entertaining to fight, but Harry took the opportunity to preview the eighth-years' living area instead. The entrance, unusually, was a straightforward door, guarded by an age-line rather than a password. Off the central common room, each of the eight dormitories had its own door, with carved latches in the forms of the house animals. Those could be given passwords. There were no stairs or corridors. Harry wasn't even sure the girls' -- _women's _\-- rooms were protected against men.

In the late afternoon, while the Hogwarts Express was chugging up through the countryside, the rooms were left to Harry. He moved his things over, claiming his spot in the Gryffindor boys' dorm. Since the dormitories had no windows, he simply picked the bed closest to the door, in case he wanted to sneak out, and piled his school books, acquired in Hogsmeade, on the bed to mark it as his. After that, he carefully disguised or concealed all evidence of his trip to Muggle London and summer experimentation.

 

Sitting there, in the empty dormitory, he started thinking that he should have seen a male prostitute as well. He still had no idea what he ought to do, or what he wanted to do, with Ginny. A few minutes later, he'd concluded that was stupid. All he'd learned from the female prostitute was that he found sex with a woman physically satisfying, and he wasn't sure that was what he had needed to know. He still didn't know if he would have the urge to please Ginny, nor if he would have that with a man without potions. He should have known better than to take advice from George, really. Reconsidering his earlier actions, he dug a smooth rock out of his trunk, changed it back into a bottle of thick lube, and tucked it into a merely discreet location in the drawer of his bedside table.

 

Just when dinner would normally have been starting, seven carriages rattled up to the front door. Harry, all misgivings forgotten, ran across the entrance hall to embrace Hermione and Ron, and was borne back into the Great Hall in a cheerily raucous crowd of Gryffindors, together again. Rather than long tables, tonight each house had a round one; theirs had places for eight -- five boys and three girls.

"Harry!" Ron said cheerfully, as soon as they sat. "How's it been here?"

"Good," Harry replied. "I've learned a lot of masonry repair charms."

"Excellent. You can fix the parlor wall next time you visit."

Harry grinned. "All right. But your dad would get to it sooner."

"Dad? He's pants at that sort of thing. I mean, you've seen the Burrow, right?"

"It seems to hold up well enough. Filius insists on something more solid-looking, though."

"Filius?" Parvati asked, and embarrassed, Harry shrugged.

"I was sort of his assistant. I don't know what I'm supposed to call him now that school's starting."

The evening went well. Ron and Hermione had gone for a weekend at the shore, which they told stories about -- stories that sometimes ended with a shared look and a giggly blush from Hermione. Harry decided that was good. Hermione sent him occasional sharp looks, but didn't ask about dreams in front of the others, nor, after dinner, in front of Ron.

 

Harry rose early out of habit. Not wanting to wake his roommates, he dressed quietly and slipped outside. The common room was also quiet. A single Ravenclaw had his nose in a book, and Justin Finch-Fletchley was sitting at one end of a sofa, legs crossed neatly at the knee, staring into the fire. Harry stopped to look him over. Perhaps it was just missing his morning wank -- and more elaborate evening one -- but Justin looked _good_. His hair was styled in a more adult fashion that emphasized his strong jaw, and the brooding look added favorably to his age. His robes were lying neatly across the chair beside him, leaving him in pressed trousers and a short-sleeved oxford shirt that exposed surprisingly strong bare arms. Decisively, Harry moved closer and leaned over the back of the chair.

"Hi," he said. "You're looking fit."

He could tell immediately that this had been an error. Justin stiffened. His legs uncrossed, feet settling flat on the ground as if he was ready to run. Instead, he answered politely.

"I spent much of last year with my aunt and uncle," he said stiffly, "working with the polo ponies and learning the sport."

Harry laughed. "Now that," he said, before Justin could take offense, "is the problem with magic. I've been hauling rocks all of August, but no one can tell."

Justin relaxed a little at the implication that Harry had meant the compliment literally, and more so when Harry excused himself. Harry headed outside for a walk.

 

After lunch, the eighth-year students were summoned in to a meeting with Professor McGonagall.

"As I mentioned last night," she announced, "your schedule will be notably different from previous years. As most of the subjects taught here at Hogwarts require substantial professor-student interaction, you will not be sitting in lessons with the seventh-year students. The exception is History of Magic, which, as a lecture, can double class sizes without substantial detriment to the students.

"For your other classes, you will have one lecture and one student-professor meeting per week, and beyond that, will be working on an independent study basis." She gestured to the board, on which she had already charted the week. "You can see the schedule here--"

Hermione's hand shot up. McGonagall's mouth tightened briefly. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I don't see how we could possibly learn as much this way. Classroom interaction is very important."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "I do suggest that you try to form study groups, but my staff are already stretched to their limit."

"Can't some of us attend the seventh-year lessons? Those of us who weren't here at all?"

"Unfortunately, Miss Granger, that is nearly half of you, and as I have said, I will not compromise the education of the seventh-year students."

Hermione looked wildly around at them. Malfoy raised a hand. He looked better than when Harry had seen him last, not that that was saying much. He still seemed worn down, but at least that tempered his arrogance.

"Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall asked.

"It seems likely," Malfoy said, "that not everyone would want to attend lessons, and that those of us who do will only want do to so for one or two classes. Perhaps an accommodation of two or three extra students per class would be possible?"

Harry watched McGonagall take a steadying breath as she considered the proposal. It was surprisingly reasonable. After a moment, she nodded. "It is worth consideration, Mr. Malfoy." She conjured two sheets of parchment, one in cream and one in blue, and stood with her wand poised over them. "A show of hands. Who has a class that they wish to attend?"

Harry evaluated quickly. Defense Against the Dark Arts, he thought, might still matter. Reluctantly, he raised his hand. Ron did not, despite a poke from Hermione. Neville did. In a blue and cream flurry, all those with a hand up were given three small rectangles of parchment. Harry's were cream. Looking over, he saw that Dean's were too, but Neville's were blue. Hermione's were invisible behind an arm as she positioned her quill over them.

"Now. Listen carefully and wait until I have finished, because incorrectly written entries will be disqualified." McGonagall moved to the board. "You will write a number and a class. For example, if your first choice is Transfiguration, you will write this." On the board, she wrote _1\. Transfiguration_. "You may submit up to three choices, but they must be for different classes. If you only want to submit one or two, that is fine; understand that submitting requests for classes you do not care deeply about may eliminate someone who cares more."

Up until that moment, Harry had been planning to put in Transfiguration as a second choice, but he reconsidered and just put in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Around him, others made decisions and wrote on their slips of paper. Malfoy drew his wand and lofted his, Parkinson's, and Bulstrode's back on a breeze.

"Blue for those who were here last year?" he asked.

McGonagall nodded tightly. "You will get lower priority."

Malfoy's face tightened, but he acknowledged with a nod.

As she had received each piece of parchment, McGonagall stacked them by student and touched each stack with her wand. Once she had them all, she cast a charm that sent the little rectangles flying to align themselves in columns in the air. Another incantation and they went sailing hither and thither to new positions. Harry recognized "primus" and "secundus", but nothing else. She rearranged them several times, and then began to examine individual pieces of parchment.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, you have Arithmancy." The first column now had two pieces of parchment in it. She turned them red, and four other pieces tumbled from other columns to the floor. McGonagall moved on to the next column. "Mr. Finch-Fletchley, Miss McDougal, Charms." She paused at the next column. "Mr. Potter," she said bitingly, "do you not think others might benefit more from additional instruction in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

There were a few sniggers at that. Hermione hid her mouth behind a hand. Harry focused on McGonagall. "Perhaps, professor," he said steadily, "but I'm willing to run a study group in it -- something like the D.A., but more focused on the class material, rather than just on surviving."

She inclined her head. "You will be required to accept all eighth-year students who wish to attend."

After a brief glance at the Slytherins, Harry shrugged. "That's fair."

"Very well. Mr. Potter, Mr. Thomas, Defense Against the Dark Arts."

By the end of the meeting, there were two students in every column, and no one was complaining openly. Hermione was shooting dark looks not at McGonagall, but at Ron. As soon as the meeting was over, she laid into him.

"Ron, you _know _you should have tried to get extra Potions time! If you really want to be an Auror, you're going to need a Potions N.E.W.T.!"

"Maybe I think I can study it on my own."

"Don't be ridiculous; you're far too lazy. Now, I think we should appeal to Slu--"

Harry slipped away. Outside the classroom he paused uncertainly. Most of the group had dispersed, and some of them had certainly gone back to the eighth-years' common room, but he could also go outside, or he could try to find Filius. While he hesitated, he noticed another laggard; Draco Malfoy was standing near the stairs, watching him with an intent, hungry look. Harry told himself it was envy, but that didn't keep his blood from thrilling with what else it might be. In challenge, he smiled back.

He expected a scowl, or for Malfoy to turn and stomp off, but Malfoy pushed off of the wall and walked straight towards him. He stopped in arm's reach. "Potter."

"Yes?" Harry asked. Malfoy sounded strangely neutral.

With a slight, wry smile, Malfoy inclined his head. "I wanted to thank you for saving my life, and Greg's. I had given you no reason to." He looked up, his gaze once again as intent as a hunting cat's. "I am deeply grateful."

"Mm." That look was going straight to his cock. "Want to show me how grateful?" Harry couldn't believe the words had come out of his mouth. He wanted to sink into the floor. "Sorry. I didn't mean-- I just--"

Malfoy, who had gone wide-eyed, began to smirk as Harry flailed. "Why, Potter," he drawled, "were you attempting to proposition me?"

Harry winced. "Ineptly, yeah. I don't really expect--"

"Hush," Malfoy chastened. His voice dropped. "I would be _delighted _to express my gratitude -- in appropriate privacy. Try not to be too obvious about following me, now."

With a lingering come-hither look, he turned slowly away, and then walked casually to the stairs. Harry waited until he was half a flight up, and then followed.

He knew this was mad. Malfoy could be leading him anywhere. At best, Malfoy would probably have sex with him and then blackmail him. Despite these fears, he was trembling with excitement. If Malfoy would really-- Maybe he would. Weren't purebloods supposed to be decadent? Maybe he would have some idea what he was doing. Harry knew he should turn back. He also knew he wouldn't.

Malfoy led him to the second-floor, and past all the classrooms that were in regular use, and he opened a door that Harry had never noticed before. With a quick glance to see that no one was watching, Harry followed. He'd risk a classroom if it gave him a chance to get into Malfoy's robes. When he entered the room, though, his quarry wasn't in reach. Harry looked across a bare, dusty floor and saw him lounging in a second doorway. As soon as Harry met his eyes, he turned and continued into the inner room. Harry shut the classroom door behind him. As foolhardy as this might be, he couldn't resist. He drew his wand, giving himself at least that chance, and crossed over to what must have been a professor's office. He half expected an ambush, but Malfoy was waiting with his hands at his sides and his wand out of sight.

"Now--" he began, but Harry was out of patience. He shoved Malfoy back against the nearest wall and muffled his yelp with a ravenous kiss.

Malfoy's tense shoulders softened as his mouth surrendered to the onslaught. In a few seconds, he was returning the kiss, his lips first matching Harry's rough push, and then tempting more. They slowed to exploring each other, and Harry felt his heart soar. He didn't resist when Malfoy pushed at one of his shoulders, slowly backing him around until Harry was the one against the wall. Malfoy lifted his head, and Harry whimpered at the loss.

"Merlin, Potter, I'd no idea!" Malfoy said. "Let me at least shut the door."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, dizzily wondering what was happening, and better yet, what was going to happen. Unless Malfoy just stupefied him, or something. But instead, Malfoy reached for the front of Harry's robes, and parted them to feel the front of his trousers. He didn't have to hunt. Harry was hard as a rock, the tip of his cock protruding from the waistband of his sagging jeans. Malfoy made a desperate little whining sound as he dropped to his knees, fingers already working at the zip.

"God, yeah."

Malfoy paused for a moment, his breath warm on Harry's cock. He didn't say anything in return, but his lustful expression grew sly as he leaned forward and stretched out his tongue to touch the tip.

Harry half expected him to bite, but it was just a too-small touch of wetness, tantalizingly good. "Please," he begged, canting his hips a little more forward.

Malfoy's low laugh vibrated across his erection, but he didn't pull away or throw a hex. Instead, eyes closing, he moved his mouth over the head. Involuntarily, Harry cried out, and Malfoy finally closed his lips and began to work in earnest.

He did know what he was doing, at least a little, and Harry could feel his response escalating alarmingly. He dropped a hand to Malfoy's hair. It was light and soft under his touch.

"God. I'm not going to last long. It's been...." He couldn't say _years_. "Too fucking long," he substituted, his voice choked with lust. Malfoy had stopped bobbing his head up and down, and was doing something up the underside of his cock, and Harry couldn't manage another word. He felt Malfoy's soft hair, and stroked along the side of his face, and did his best not to fuck his mouth the way his body wanted to.

"Oh!" he cried out, feeling his bollocks tighten in readiness. "Fuck! I'm going to-- If you want to--"

In answer, Malfoy took him deep for a second, and then returned to vigorous sliding up and down Harry's cock.

"Yeah," Harry moaned. "God, brilliant...." His voice lost words, rising as he went further. He shoved his hand in his mouth, not to excite himself, but to muffle the full-throated roar that he could feel rising with his orgasm. They hadn't cast muting spells, hadn't--

He came then, only dimly aware of his physical release beyond the overload of all sensation, everything light and then dark, like a lightning strike. It left him sagging against the wall, clutching the rough stone and hoping he wouldn't fall. "God," he said, stunned, belatedly managing to look downward, and Malfoy responded with a wicked grin.

"Was that what you'd wanted, Potter?"

"Yeah."

Malfoy brought the toes of one foot under him, as if to rise, so Harry pressed down on his shoulders as he dropped in front of him. Malfoy looked startled, but when Harry started to kiss him, he didn't move away. Harry nudged past swollen lips with his tongue, and tasting his release in Malfoy's mouth, moaned into it. The floor was painfully hard beneath his knees; Malfoy's must ache, he thought, but when he had fumbled his way past the thick fabric of Malfoy's robes, he felt through his trousers that it hadn't been enough to entirely discourage his erection.

Malfoy twitched back. "What are you--" His eyes widened in alarm as he saw Harry lift his wand. "No!"

"Easy, Malfoy. Just a cushioning charm." Harry kept the tip of his wand in Malfoy's sight as he cast past him at the floor, although it would have been easier to point it over his shoulder. "Don't know how you put up with this floor. Scoot back, now, and lie down."

"Lie down?" Malfoy repeated incredulously, even as he obeyed. He smirked up at Harry. "Now what, hero?"

"Watch your mouth," Harry retorted, only half in jest. He undid Malfoy's trousers and bent to lick Malfoy's cock.

"Potter!"

"_Now _it's my turn."

"I think that would generally be considered _mine_."

"Whatever," Harry answered, rolling his eyes. "I want to suck you off, Malfoy. May I?"

"Circe, _yes!_ What do you _think_?"

But Harry was too busy with his mouth to talk. He played a little from the side, but not for as long as he wanted to -- he was afraid Malfoy might think he was teasing, or that he didn't know what to do next, so he quickly took the whole thing in his mouth, sliding his lips up and down it several times. Either Malfoy had a smaller prick than Sirius had had, or his mouth had grown bigger -- both, possibly. He didn't object, in any case, about being able to go almost to the root. And every bob of his head brought his nose down to Malfoy's pale curls, with that dizzying masculine scent -- not good in a conventional perfume sort of way, exactly, but _exciting_. He loosened the grip of his lips and let the head push along the roof of his mouth, then moaned with pleasure around it. This was as good as he remembered.

Malfoy made it better by reacting with abandon. He keened and whined in such an undignified manner that Harry had to believe it was sincere. He didn't thrust, but he pulled Harry's hair, urging him closer, and Harry found he _could _take it deeper, for as long as he didn't need to breathe or swallow.

"Oh fuck, Potter," Malfoy muttered. "Can't fucking believe...." Whatever he had intended to say was lost in a moan. Harry eased off and started pulling the tight tip of his tongue up the vein. Malfoy cried out again, pulled at his hair, let it go, and pushed halfheartedly at his forehead.

"I'm so close. Can't stop. Can't possibly--"

In answer, Harry wrapped his arms under Malfoy's thighs and hauled him tighter in. He felt surrender in the gagging thrust of Malfoy's cock, heard it in the way his cries finally sped up and rose. When the thick spurts started, Harry let them fill his mouth, sputtered to swallow in the second between floods, and after the last drops had gone down, let Malfoy's softening cock slide free of his lips with a final kiss. He came up grinning. Malfoy gave him one incredulous, worshipful look and then collapsed back, so Harry crawled up his prone body to share tastes again.

It was a long time of kissing, and as long a time of lying still before either of them spoke.

"Potter. I didn't think you'd do that."

Harry snorted. "You really thought I'd _meant _it about the gratitude thing, didn't you? I was just running off at the mouth."

"Then what _did _you mean?" Malfoy asked fretfully, and Harry shrugged.

"I liked the way you were looking at me, that was all. What should I have said? 'Oh, you're quite welcome; let's have it off?'"

Malfoy coughed. "Not much better, really."

"I suppose not." He bit his lip. "That wasn't why you did it, was it?"

Malfoy looked thoughtful. "Well, it _was_, of course. I suppose you'd like me to say I'd have done it anyway?"

"Would you have?" Harry asked anxiously. There was something more intimate than the sex about lying here half-dressed. He thought he understood, now, what David had meant about being emotionally vulnerable.

"No, not really," Malfoy replied. He smiled slyly at Harry's dismay. "Though given what I know now, I'd gladly do it again for its own sake."

"That's something, I suppose."

"I wouldn't have expected you to make it good, really." Malfoy sat and reached for his trousers. While putting them on, he turned his back to Harry. "You're quite the surprise. Do you wish me to be discreet?" he asked lightly.

"It would probably be for the best," Harry answered, pushing down a twinge of guilt. "I'm not exactly _with _Ginny, at the moment, but I'm not sure that it's permanently over. I mean, I don't have any problem with girls, and we...." He wasn't sure. _We get along _seemed too weak.

"I see." Malfoy's shoulders moved in a shrug. "I expect it wouldn't be good for my marriage prospects either. However..." He turned, his face once again distant and slightly mocking. "While I was not expecting mutual enjoyment, I had hoped for some public -- _acceptance_, at least."

Harry already missed the brief moments of being able to read Malfoy's expressions. He arranged his clothing to distract his mind from the matter, and managed to speak evenly. "I don't think that will be a problem. After all, if we show up on speaking terms, I doubt anyone will make the leap to _this_."

Malfoy laughed. "True. I'll see you around school then, Potter. It's been a pleasure."

"Mutual," Harry managed, and he watched Malfoy leave.


	4. Studying

As the arrival of the younger students drew nearer, Harry worried about greeting Ginny. Would what he had done show on his face somehow? He was relieved when McGonagall summoned all the eighth-year students to the Great Hall and had them seated to await the younger returning students. The tables had returned to their usual form and length. Without thinking, Harry settled between Ron and Hermione. He couldn't restrain himself from looking over to the Slytherin table. Malfoy looked back at him for a second, and then, smiling, lowered his eyes. Harry felt his breath catch.

"Oh!" Ron exclaimed. "You should move down."

"Pardon?"

"Ginny will want to sit next to you."

"Oh, yeah." Nervous again, Harry switched places with Ron.

When the other returning students arrived, it was with an uneasy hubbub of voices. The first arrivals paused in the doorway at seeing the eighth-years already there, and then cautiously advanced to take seats further down the tables. Several minutes later, Luna and Ginny came in together. Just inside the doorway, Ginny froze, but Luna danced forward, and ran to the Gryffindor table to bid a cheery hello to them all and to kiss the top of Neville's head before skipping away to the Ravenclaw table.

Ginny came around to Harry's side of the table and walked more sedately down to where he was sitting.

"May I sit here?" she asked, eyes shining, and Harry stood to welcome her with an awkward hug.

"Of course," he answered, sitting again before she could kiss him. What if he still tasted of Malfoy's semen? He couldn't, could he? It had been hours, and no one else seemed to have noticed anything.

The Welcoming Feast passed normally. First-years were sorted, McGonagall laid out rules with less whimsy than Dumbledore would have, and the food appeared. Ginny, who had looked a bit put out at being greeted so chastely, relaxed as they talked about the upcoming year, and whether or not she would be captain of the Quidditch team. After dinner, he walked her up to the library floor, which was as far as his year was supposed to go this late, led her into a side alcove, and kissed her goodnight to the giggles of passing girls. He felt guilty while he was doing it, and told himself he shouldn't. Malfoy was an experiment to be finished before things got official with her, and no more important than the prostitute. He'd try what he needed to with him and get it out of his system. It was saving her trouble later, really.

With a lightened heart, he returned to the eighth-years' common room. The Slytherins had retreated into their dormitories, but everyone else seemed to be out and ready to have a good time. With lessons not until mid-afternoon, there was no reason not to stay up late.

 

Out of habit, Harry rose in time for breakfast, but when he stepped out into the common room, it was mostly empty. In a chair near the door, however, he spotted a familiar blond head bent over a book. That had always made his heart speed up; now it just did it in a better way.

"Good morning, Malfoy," he said casually as he approached. A flash of movement to the side alerted him to Finch-Fletchley whirling about. A conversation between two Ravenclaws, the only other students present, stuttered out.

"And to you, Potter," Malfoy said, closing his book over a finger. "Ready for lessons?"

"Yeah, I think so," Harry answered. "I was here all through August, helping with reconstruction, so I'm at least in practice for Charms."

"Were you?" Draco commented. "I thought it looked in surprisingly good shape, all told."

Harry heated at the flattery. "Professor Flitwick is brilliant with reconstruction," he said modestly, and opening the door, headed down to breakfast.

 

The separation of their schedules from that of the younger students limited Ginny's access to Harry. Sooner or later, she would get him in a private conversation, but in the meantime, he didn't need to decide what to say to her about his dreams or about the rest of his summer. Saying nothing still seemed like a good choice. Hermione, on the other hand, was as much a presence as ever. From the way she had looked at him over the previous evening, Harry suspected that she had questions already, but she wouldn't bring up the dreams in front of Ron. He wasn't sure exactly what he was willing to tell her, but at least that she was wrong in her interpretations.

In fact, it was at the end of lunch, while the younger students were hurrying off to lessons, that she caught his arm.

"Do you have a minute, Harry? I'd like to talk."

Harry looked past her at Ron, who shrugged.

"All right," he answered. "By the lake?"

"Fine."

"Shall I come along, or stay out of the way?" Ron asked wryly.

"Sorry, love, but this one is 'stay out of the way," Hermione answered. She gave him a kiss. "Thank you for asking."

 

She didn't talk while they were walking away from the castle, and still seemed uncertain when they sat on the rocks by the shore. Harry pointed back at the tall, arched windows of the Entrance Hall. "I helped repair those. Well, the openings. Even with Filius and McGonagall casting together, they could only recover about half the glass from the ground below, so they needed to use some new glass. It came out visibly lighter, though, so they decided to make a pattern of it. If you look from inside, you'll see that the center of each window is brighter than the small panes on the sides and up the peak."

"That's not really what I wanted to talk about."

Harry shrugged. "But you're not saying anything."

"Well, what would you guess?"

Harry hesitated. "The dreams," he said, but he could see by her face that was wrong. "Or only visiting once."

"No, actually! I want to know why you're being so cool to Ginny!"

"Am I?"

"Harry, she said she missed you terribly, and you said you'd 'been busy.'"

"Well, what should I have said? 'I didn't miss you at all?'"

"You _should _have missed her!"

"I didn't miss anyone! I was _busy_." Harry gestured back at the distant windows. "I worked hard, but I could see what it was doing. It was good. I enjoyed it."

Sighing, Hermione shifted on her rock. Her nose wrinkled. "Why did you think I'd ask you about those dreams?" she asked. "Have you had more?"

Shrugging, Harry looked away. "They were almost constant for a couple of weeks. It turned out it wasn't a dream."

"What do you mean 'it wasn't a dream?'"

"It was a memory. Sirius and I ate something of the twins' and had sex." He winced at her gasp. "Well, oral sex. Lupin watched."

"And you know this _how_?"

He shot her a glare. "Lupin blocked the memory. Sirius wouldn't let him fully Obliviate me, so the block started deteriorating when he died. Once I started suspecting, I asked Filius about memory blocks, and he pointed me to some references on how to recover the full memory."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head. "It's probably just made up! Muggles have this thing about 'recovered' memories too, and most of them are just imagination. It's something you're afraid of, that's all."

"What?" He was too flabbergasted to be fully furious. "Muggles have 'things' about levitation, too, but that doesn't mean wizards and witches don't do it! Look, I'll show you the books, okay? And you can talk to Filius. Just keep in mind that _he _thinks the memory is just of a conversation that Lupin thought inappropriate for my age."

She opened her mouth, but then, with visible restraint, shut it again. Harry waited while she thought.

"Well," she said, "true or not, don't cut everyone else off over it."

"I'm not cutting you off!"

"You _left_, Harry! Packed while everyone else was at breakfast, and stopped only long enough to say goodbye."

"But I wrote! Visited!" Although no one was in sight, Harry dropped his voice. "Look, if I'm having nightly wet dreams about my dead godfather, I prefer to be someplace where no one hears me, okay?"

"You.... oh."

"Fortunately, remembering seems to have taken care of that stage." _Now I'm more afraid of moaning Malfoy's name._

Sighing, Hermione shook her head. "I still think it's nothing, Harry. Why don't you show me those books now? I can talk to Professor Flitwick after I've had a look."

 

Draco Malfoy was in the library when Harry and Hermione got there. As Hermione settled down with the books and Harry stepped back from her chair, Malfoy rose and shelved his own volume. After Harry left, he loitered on the stairs, and was not surprised when Malfoy emerged shortly thereafter. Malfoy acted as if he didn't see him. He strolled down the other side of the stairs as if he would walk right by, but just behind Harry, he paused. "Want to play, Potter?" he whispered. "I'll be down by the pitch, getting changed."

Harry's heartbeat quickened. He nodded stiffly and listened to Malfoy's footsteps recede down the stairs. This was okay, Harry decided. It couldn't stay this exciting. A few excursions with Malfoy, and everything should go back to normal.

 

He waited a few minutes before going down to the dormitory for his broom. When he left the building, Malfoy wasn't in sight. Harry wondered if the Slytherin had been having him on. Malfoy couldn't have walked all the way down to the pitch so quickly. However.... Harry looked at his broom. Eighth-years were allowed to fly around the grounds. Two minutes later, he was dismounting at the players' entrance.

Malfoy wasn't visible, but that didn't mean he wasn't there. From where he stood in the bright sunlight, Harry couldn't see very far into the shadowed canyon formed by the high walls of the stands. Wondering if he was going into an ambush, Harry stepped into the dark space and moved cautiously forward. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed a lighter stripe on the left wall. One of the changing room doors was ajar.

Harry licked his lips, wondering what Malfoy had meant by 'getting ready'. At the time, he had thought it just an innocuous phrase to mislead listeners, but now a number of interpretations, from the tantalizing to the sinister, suggested themselves. With slow, careful steps, he approached the door, flattening against the wall as he drew near. When he caught the sound of running water, uncertainty transmuted into arousal.

A peek through the opening showed an empty room. Light from the high, thick windows took form where it cut through the steam wafting out of the shower area, turning into slanted columns of pale gold. A single student robe hung from the wall hooks, a polished pair of black shoes beneath it. Still moving quietly, Harry slipped inside without touching the doorframe or open door. Nothing exploded, and no one attacked him, so he toed off his trainers and continued forward until he could see into the shower area.

Malfoy was naked.

His fair hair was darkened by the water. It lay flat to his head, touching his shoulders where it would have sat just above them when dry. Water ran off points of it down his back, collecting to a stream in the cleft of his buttocks and then dividing to flow down his legs. As Harry watched, Malfoy ran his hands down his chest and sides. In one quiet step, Harry moved back out of sight. His body felt almost beyond his control, but he somehow managed to undress without falling over or dropping anything loudly. When he was bare, he cast a Discouragement hex at the changing room door, and then laid his wand on top of his clothes. He moved inside the shower area, his already erect cock bobbing slightly as he walked.

Malfoy was still -- or perhaps again -- facing away from the door. It was a pose, certainly, but Harry admired his nerve in maintaining it. Harry eased up behind him, with perhaps a bit of noise from his bare feet on the wet tile. Malfoy didn't flinch until Harry set his hands on his hips, and that was just a frisson of tension. With a quick, small jerk, Harry pulled him closer, so the tip of his cock just -- just -- touched that wet arse, diverting warm water to either side.

"All alone, Malfoy?" he whispered. "Naked? Wandless? No one to protect you?"

He wasn't sure where the words had come from, far less the hint of threat in his tone. Malfoy had invited him down here and they both knew it. Malfoy, however, answered with a slight, appealing quaver in his voice.

"I-- I'm not afraid of you, Potter."

"That's right." Harry pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around his chest. Malfoy was slightly taller than he was, but less substantial, and a good deal more put off by pain. Harry didn't have any doubt who would win in a wandless fight. "I'll take care of you." He rubbed slowly up against Malfoy's arse. Malfoy whined.

"I don't--" he choked out. "I've never....."

"No one's ever had your pretty arse?" Harry guessed. "When you show it off like that?" He yanked Malfoy very tight to him and held him there for a moment, grinding against him. Malfoy's head fell back. Harry kissed his neck. "Suck me, then," he commanded, letting Malfoy go with a little push. "I know you know about that."

Malfoy, half-turned, fixed him with an evaluating stare. Harry stared back, waiting for the challenge, but it didn't come. He was almost disappointed when Malfoy went to his knees.

The soft press of Malfoy's mouth dispelled that thought. Harry managed, for a moment, to think that Malfoy must be bruising his legs again, but he couldn't care. Malfoy was even better this time, playing over the head of Harry's cock with his tongue, varying suction, using the soft pouch of one cheek. When Harry was close, he began to rock slightly, showing the speed he wanted, and Malfoy picked it up readily.

"You're so good, Malfoy," Harry crooned. _So good at sucking me. _"You know just what to do, don't you? Such a talented mouth." _And so ready to please. Did you ever do this to Snape, when you were his good boy? _He couldn't say that. Malfoy would walk out."Deeper, just.... Oh. Yeah, like...."

He grabbed Malfoy's fine hair and pulled. Malfoy's eyes widened as he tried to pretend not to choke. Harry had just enough presence of mind to release him as his bollocks tightened.

"Going to fill up your mouth," he whispered. "Don't even think.... God!" Involuntarily, his hips jerked forward again, but he let Malfoy twitch back the same amount, and watched avidly as Malfoy swallowed. A drop of white dribbled from one corner of his darkened lips. Before the tremors had ended, Harry was pulling Malfoy up and dropping to his own knees. Malfoy had padded a few of the tiles, thankfully, and Harry pushed him against the wall and swallowed his cock, getting a marvelous noise in response. Water was striking the side of his head, sliding down his face and onto Malfoy's full sac.

Lifting his head slightly, Harry stroked along Malfoy's arse. He had found spells for smoothing his fingers -- not in a sex book, but in one of cosmetic charms, once he had thought to look there -- and had used them yesterday, after Malfoy had left, and again this morning. Now he squeezed his free hand down his own cock for enough laggard come to provide a little lubricant. Malfoy tensed when Harry spread that along his wet crack, so Harry distracted him by taking his cock deep, edging his finger inside as Malfoy lost focus.

"Merlin, Potter...." Malfoy's words faded into a moan as his head dropped back against the tile. Harry pushed further in, angling his finger as much as he could, but he didn't have the length to get where he wanted. He eased back to playing with Malfoy's hole instead, but judging by the noises Malfoy was making, he enjoyed that in itself.

 

"You want everything, don't you, Potter? I'll do it, you know, do anything you.... Fuck!"

That obscenity was all the warning Harry had, but he managed to swallow between each thick flood. Malfoy groaned and sagged back, and Harry reached up to ease him down to the floor. They sat there, water flowing over them, and kissed. It was like being full of everything.

 

The overwhelming glow faded, but Harry was still feeling content as they shut off the water, collected towels, and started to dry off. He was rubbing at his hair when he caught an odd look from Malfoy. Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

"If--" Whatever he'd been going to say, Malfoy's brain caught up with his mouth. His words slowed and grew cooler and lighter. "You wanted to take it further, didn't you? Not, I mean...." He sucked on his lower lip, releasing it darker. "As if I hadn't invited you."

Harry's stomach twisted with guilt. "I wouldn't want you not to enjoy it."

"Obviously," Malfoy answered. "You _are _the hero, after all." He put a finger to Harry's lips, barring protest. "_Don't _mistake sarcasm for disbelief. If I didn't trust you, I'd be out of reach or holding a wand."

Harry nodded. "I'd rather you didn't call me that, you know."

Malfoy's mouth quirked in a smile. "But it's so insincere."

"I'm not sure that helps."

 

They left separately. Harry wasn't ashamed, really, of what he did with Malfoy, but it would be foolish to let anyone find out. None of it meant anything, after all, because love was all about being tongue-tied and awkward, and when he'd been with Malfoy, the dirtiest flattery had flowed from his mouth with no effort at all. His games were really his business.

He went to the seventh-years' Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, his one Tuesday commitment. It was just intro stuff, but he thought Hestia might be an interesting teacher. She didn't mind when he absently called her that, rather than Professor Jones.

When he returned to the eighth-years' common room, Malfoy wasn't there. Harry told himself he wasn't disappointed, but he decided to go up to the library to study. Malfoy wasn't there either, that he could see, but Hermione was. She was reading one of the books on memory charms and didn't notice him. Harry sat down out of her line of sight and began the reading for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

When he noticed the slant of the sunlight coming in the windows, he realized that he had been expecting Ginny to come looking for him. Lessons must have ended at least an hour ago. Perhaps she had come looking, but not thought to check the library. He went up to Gryffindor tower, but she wasn't in the common room.

"Looking for Gin?" one of the younger girls called from a seat by the window.

"Um, sort of." Harry hadn't expected to feel out of place here. It was _Gryffindor_. On the other hand, there were two years' worth of kids he'd never met, and more that had been too young to notice when he'd last lived here. "Just to say hi."

"She's down at the pitch with the rest of the team."

"Oh." That felt even odder. "Okay."

Not having anything else to do, he dumped his books in his dormitory and continued on to the pitch. The sun was setting, turning the hills to gold and mauve, and he could hear enthusiastic shouts from the players and a few spectators. Ron's voice was clear for a moment, and then faded into the babble. With a delicious shiver, Harry passed the entrance to the changing rooms. Had that just been this afternoon? Had the team used that one? Had it still smelled of sex?

Deliberately pushing _that _thought away, he started up into the stands, emerging to see Ginny facing three other flyers. She lifted her fist and called out something, carried away by wind and height, and the others did the same in return. Unison was enough to bring the words to him -- "The House Cup!" With that they turned and swooped down to the grass.

"Took you long enough, mate," Ron grumbled as the four teammates landed. Ritchie Coote wasn't weedy anymore, Harry noticed. He looked the picture of a fit young Beater, with muscular arms and a keen eye.

"I was studying," Harry replied, starting back down the stairs. "Then I couldn't find anyone."

"Well, we couldn't find you either."

"Harry!" Ginny called. She ran over and gave him a one-armed hug, the other still holding her broom. "Where were you?"

"The library."

She laughed. "I didn't think to look there."

Ritchie nudged her. "So tell him."

"What? Oh! I'm captain!"

"Good for you!" Harry said. Rather to his surprise, he discovered he meant it whole-heartedly. "You'll be brilliant."

"Wish I had you as a Seeker," she said. "Tryouts are this weekend, but I can't imagine we'll find anyone as talented."

He grinned. "Keep your options open," he said. "You're talented yourself, you know. If you find a good Seeker, play Chaser; if you find enough good Chasers, play Seeker. Remember, the Slytherins don't have Malfoy, either."

"Like that matters," Ron said.

"He's almost as good as me," Harry answered. "Irritating as that was."

"Will you help with tryouts?" Ginny asked.

"No."

"What!"

"Harry!" Ron chided.

"No," Harry repeated stubbornly. "You're captain, Ginny. Ron and I are out of this so you get to be the oldest, most experienced player. That's the _point_. As captain, _you _run tryouts, _you _make the choices, _you _get the consequences of your judgment. If I help, and you have a brilliant season, you'll never be sure it was _your _team."

She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. Suddenly, she broke into a grin. "But if they're awful, I won't have you to blame!"

He laughed. "Not incentive, Ginny!"

As a group, they headed up to dinner together.

 

Draco seemed almost to be avoiding him. Harry saw him at a distance, at meals, but he didn't see him in the common room that evening, or the next day, and he was never in the library when Harry stopped by. Harry worried that he'd been more bothered by Harry's aggressiveness than he had let on. On Wednesday, Harry expected him to be at the first eighth-year Charms lesson, but he wasn't. Only after the lesson had started, and Harry noticed that Parkinson and Nott were also missing, did it occur to him that Malfoy had been at school last year. The Ministry might not consider that adequate to sit N.E.W.T.s, but he probably wasn't required to retake every class.

Filius started by allocating conference slots on Friday and Saturday. Saturday was Harry's longest day. It started with Muggle Studies, which was compulsory for all of them -- McGonagall had this idea that putting Muggle-born and Muggle-raised students in the class might increase its accuracy. As much as he hated the waste of an hour, Harry had to admit she was probably right. After that, he had Potions, which could last into lunchtime, depending on what they brewed. He chose a Friday conference slot, as did most of the people taking Potions.

After the lesson, he and Ron waited for Hermione, who had a question for Filius.

"Should we go up to Gryffindor?" Ron asked.

Harry looked out the window at the golden light and shook his head. "No point. By the time we got there, it would be time to start down to dinner."

"You know, we're going to have a conference for every class. Once they're done with us, we won't have any free time with the regular students at all."

Harry shrugged. "There's Sunday. Besides, conferences are a lot shorter than classes. You have Tuesday and Thursday evenings free, right?"

"Yeah." Ron snorted. "Can you believe Hermione is planning to go to the eighth-year Arithmancy class on Tuesday, as well as going to the seventh-year ones?"

"Of course I can believe it." Harry bumped against Ron. "And before you go after her too much, keep in mind that I'm doing the same thing with Defense."

Ron shook his head. "Mad, both of you. Being out on your own damaged your thinking. It's probably a delayed effect of frostbite."

"Or wanting to get a job, maybe," Harry countered.

"Right. Go after me about job prospects. I'm used to that. Just don't try to kiss me to make up."

Harry laughed. He hoped it didn't sound too hysterical. "No worries, mate," he managed. "I've got other people to kiss."

"Yeah, Ginny would probably kill us both," Ron agreed. "Sod it, isn't she done yet?"

Hermione was asking yet another question of Professor Flitwick. Harry marched up and took her arm.

"Hermione," he said, "we need food, and Filius probably wants to tidy up before dinner."

Looking relieved, the little man nodded. "I'm afraid so. Some of the sixth-years' whirlwind charms were more than a bit enthusiastic."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "Well, I suppose that's enough for the next set of references, at least."

"I'd be happy to resume our discussion later," Filius answered, with a little bow. "Do read at least the Cortez text first though. It will clarify several of the basic concepts."

"Of course," she said. "Thank you, Professor!"

 

Ginny, it turned out, had come down to meet them and was waiting outside the eighth-years' common room. While kissing her -- she was a very good kisser, Harry decided -- he finally caught a glimpse of Malfoy, over her shoulder. There was nothing to do but ignore him and wait until the next time.

 

The next day, Harry wasn't willing to leave an encounter to chance. He'd woken up aroused twice during the night, and had finally resorted to a pre-dawn wank in the shower, fantasizing that Malfoy would walk in and join him. He finished breakfast early -- Ron was still in bed -- and waited outside watching the trickle of people leaving. Before the real rush to classes, his target emerged.

"Malfoy," he said, stepping forward.

"What do you want, Potter?" Malfoy answered, less amiably than Harry had expected. Harry glanced around. It was mostly little kids flowing by them.

"Come with me and find out," he challenged, and turned and walked away. Malfoy would follow or not; he couldn't force the issue in a crowd.

Malfoy did follow. Around two corners, in apparent privacy, he grabbed Harry's shoulder. "What do you _want_, Potter?" he snarled.

Harry grabbed back, seizing the front of Malfoy's robe in both hands and pushing him back against the wall. "Your prick," he said fiercely. "Your arse." He leaned closer yet. "The taste of your mouth," he whispered, touching with his breath.

Under his lips, Malfoy's sneer faded into a moan. Harry pushed a little harder, kissed him a little deeper. Slowly, Malfoy's hands rose to settle on Harry's hips. Harry rocked against him, playing his tongue across Malfoy's, and those hands started moving again. Malfoy squeezed one between them and groped for Harry's cock. He didn't have much trouble finding it.

"Here, Potter?" he whispered. "We might get caught."

Dizzily, Harry raised his head and looked around. This place looked private, but it wasn't really. "Right," he muttered, wondering if he cared. Well, Malfoy probably did, anyway. Unfortunately, it was pouring rain outside. "That office again?" he suggested.

Malfoy nodded. "I'll catch you up."

Harry sighed. "Fine."

 

It took a while for Malfoy to arrive, and longer than Harry would have expected to reach the same pitch of lust. Malfoy showed up looking subdued, and Harry didn't risk any games, this time, just pulled him down onto the bed he had transfigured from the professor's desk. While they kissed -- Malfoy was really an _excellent _kisser -- he worked on Malfoy's robes. They were familiar, at least, unlike the heavy things that Sirius had worn. Malfoy reciprocated, matching him piece for piece in clothing undone and removed, until Harry was naked, and Malfoy in loose pants.

"No underwear?"

"Not in the habit," Harry answered. At Malfoy's falsely knowing look, he shrugged. "Always had hand-me-downs," he said. "Didn't want to wear my cousin's used pants."

Malfoy looked taken aback, but he didn't comment. "Convenient, anyway," he said lightly, stroking down Harry's erection.

"Mm. But unfair." Harry pushed Malfoy's pants down, and wrapped his hand around Malfoy's cock. It wasn't entirely hard, but a few slow pulls took care of that. He moved crosswise to Malfoy, licking and kissing around his hand.

"Tease."

Harry swung around and settled on his side, so his cock was near Malfoy's face. "Just starting slow," he said. "Can you do everything to me that I do to you?" Moving his hand down, he slowly pushed his lips down the head of Malfoy's cock. For a moment, Malfoy just lay there, but then, in a quick twist, he moved to do the same to Harry. Harry moaned around the obstruction in his mouth. This was brilliant.

 

"Potter?"

"Mm?"

"May I call you Harry? I'm afraid I will, eventually, say your name during one of these encounters, and 'Potter' would sound a bit ridiculous, don't you think?"

"Oh." Harry lifted his head up a few inches and stared down his body at Draco. "Mm." Shifting to lay his head more comfortably on Malfoy's thigh, he smiled. "I'd call you Draco, then?"

"Such things are usually reciprocal, between peers."

Harry snorted. "God, Mal-- _Draco_, you're such a toff."

Draco did his best to toss his head, but the effect was rather spoiled by the way it bumped his cheek into Harry's spent cock. "As I should be."

In a quick motion, Harry reversed position. He stopped to lick the creamy smear off Malfoy's-- _Draco's _cheek before replying. "Yes, of course you can call me Harry."

"Harry," Draco repeated. He snuggled close. "Mm. I think I like that." He eyed Harry speculatively. "How long do you expect we'll continue with this indiscretion?"

Harry shrugged. "Until we get tired of it," he said casually.

Grey eyes narrowed. "Until _you _do, you mean. I'm _gay_, you realize."

The sharp tone made Harry uneasy. "Yeah, but I'm hardly your type, right?"

"And you would know my type?"

There was a long silence. "Upper class, I'd think," Harry answered awkwardly.

"In case you haven't noticed," Draco said bitterly, rolling away, "I'm not exactly rolling in money, these days." He sat up, pulling his knees in close to his body.

"Poor baby," Harry scoffed, sitting cross-legged and pretending not to notice how that exposed him. He at least didn't want to wonder if he liked that. "I've been following the war reparations cases. You're not exactly destitute either. Or even middle-class."

Draco paused. "I suppose you're right. Mother is buying off-rack gowns, but she still buys gowns."

"And you still have the Manor."

"Yes."

Draco continued to look away. Feeling oddly tender -- from the sex, perhaps? -- Harry shifted his legs to one side and settled an arm around Draco's shoulders. "Would you rather have all that money and Lord Voldemort in your dining hall?" he asked gently.

With a sob, Draco leaned into him, turning without showing his face. "No. I'm so glad you-- I'm so glad he didn't win."

Harry kissed his hair. "Still," he said softly, "I'm not...."

"Don't even _think _about mentioning blood status, Potter."

"Why not?" Harry asked, startled.

"I don't want to talk about it." Draco turned his face away again, pressing his cheek into Harry's shoulder. "Ever. _Ever._"

Harry felt a stirring of concern. "If you need to talk, though, you know you can." Draco was silent. "I won't go after you or anything."

Draco snorted derisively. "Why not?"

"Eh." Harry shrugged. "I couldn't torture you more than Voldemort did, really. What's the point in being second rate?"

Draco's laughter was harsh, but he raised his face. "Damn it all. I like you."

"And you don't think I'm beneath you?"

"Mm. I think I'd like you beneath me." Draco licked his lips, making them shimmer as they had in the shower, the other day. "I already like above me."

"Ha. I like you against the wall."

"I noticed." Draco's smile faded. "About that time in the shower...."

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? You don't need to avoid me. I was reasonable today, right?"

"Except in the hallway," Draco answered quickly. Harry felt himself flush with shame. He had been rough in the hallway, and he'd probably just made everything worse, saying he liked Draco against the wall.

"To be truthful, I was sorry you stopped, but it was rather public."

"Yeah, but--" Harry bit his lip for a moment. _I was sorry you stopped_. "I wasn't sure."

"That I'd like it, you mean?" Draco looked sidelong at him. "That was all that was holding you back in the shower, wasn't it? Not being certain you could tell if you went further than I liked."

"Would you like?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Starring in your sick little fantasies?" Draco said flippantly. "I think I might, at that. _With _appropriate safety controls."

Harry felt a strange twist of unease in his gut. He kept being surprised that Malfoy hadn't attacked or blackmailed him yet. Was Malfoy angling to get some means to disable him?

Draco tapped his lips. "Would you give me a Revocation?"

"A what?"

Draco sighed. "Really, Potter. Harry. I had some hope you knew what you were doing."

"Just tell me what it is!"

"It's a means to stop a lover who might want one to, for example, struggle or fuss for added excitement."

In a rush, Harry remembered his first fantasy of Malfoy. He was frightening, the way he could infer so much. Over a racing heart, Harry pretended disinterest, and snorted. "Oh, _that. _Muggles call it a 'safeword'."

"Hm. Not 'safety word'? But I expect the Muggle one doesn't do anything."

"Oh, no. It's just a signal." _And of course the Wizarding equivalent would be more._

"Yes. And I'm not sure I trust you quite that much."

"I wouldn't--"

"I've seen you lose control." Draco smirked. "I've made it happen. I might want to by another means."

Harry's breath caught. "Yeah. Um...." Turned on as he was, Harry couldn't help circling around to his earlier suspicions. What Malfoy might really want was for Harry to give him some way to overpower him. "What does it do?"

"First, 'Revocation' isn't exactly correct either. It should be called 'a Revocation bond,' but for some reason, it never is." Draco blushed. "It is a ... contract between two partners. If one partner invokes it, the other is physically repelled from contact, and any physical bonds he has set on the invoking partner open. It will also attempt to dispel any active hexes between the two, and there's a calming component involved -- usually, of course, Revocation is invoked by the submissive partner, but because of the calming component, can be used the other way if a particular encounter has gone terribly awry."

"Ah."

"So...?"

"I...." The twisting in Harry's gut had turned to something good. He felt an eagerness that defied physical satiety. "I'd need to look into it," he managed. For all he knew, this spell could _reverse _bindings.

"I didn't actually expect you to take me at my word," Malfoy agreed. "Given our history, it would be foolish, even for a Gryffindor. Have you anyone you would trust to buy you a book of that sort? Or, better yet, we could use polyjuice, the next time we have access to Hogsmeade. I wouldn't mind you buying books about erotic charms and bonds as me, and then you'd know I hadn't tampered with them."

"And you don't mind what you're seen buying?"

Malfoy stuck his nose in the air. "I am a _Malfoy_. I am not expected to have common tastes."

Harry smirked. "May I buy gay porn too?"

"Have I not mentioned that I am _gay_? Of course."

"Excellent."


	5. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sex in a semi-public space.

More than two weeks passed before Hermione brought up the matter of the memory charm. Harry had fallen into an odd sort of routine: Sunday afternoons and Tuesday evenings were spent with Ginny, mostly cuddling while they both studied, but sometimes kissing a little more intensely. Occasionally, Ginny had hinted that she would be willing to do far more than kiss, but Harry was too afraid that he wouldn't want to stay, and that she would take it as meaning he would, so he pretended not to notice the offers. More mornings than not, but always Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, he would meet Draco somewhere for sex. Harry hadn't fucked his arse, yet, but he had taken to carrying lube, and Draco now responded eagerly to a finger or two -- or once, three -- up his arse. Harry missed doing the same to himself, but he wasn't confident enough to try it in the dormitory, or to sneak a butt plug out to somewhere more private.

He was thinking about just that possibility, and all the embarrassing ways he could get caught, when Hermione stopped in front of his chair.

"Harry? Could we talk?"

Harry blinked, and tried not to think about fucking himself into jelly. "Er ... of course."

Hermione stared at him, one finger tapping against her school bag. "By the lake," she said finally, and Harry jumped up out of his chair.

"Right," he said. "Let's go."

It was brisk, but not unpleasant, by the water. They sat in the same area as before -- they might have chosen the same rocks, Harry thought -- and this time he let Hermione spend a minute staring at the water.

"I researched Memory-Blocking charms," she said finally.

"And?"

She looked at him. "How did you remember this? Sequentially?"

He shook his head. "No. Remember, it started with a dream of Lupin wanking. He didn't start on that until Sirius and I were really going at it."

"So it began with the person that you think cast the charm."

"Right."

"Do you have any other reason to think it was him?"

Harry sighed. She was reviewing every chance that his memories were inaccurate. "Yes. He told Sirius he would. And the last thing I remember is him casting a sleeping charm on me, which is the best state in which to do a Memory Block. Sirius didn't approve, so he wouldn't have cast it himself."

"Maybe you should tell me about what happened, starting from the beginning."

Harry nodded. Illogically, he checked to make sure they were still alone. "Sirius had stormed into the library while I was there, and we ended up talking, and eating these ginger biscuits that were on the table. Then I asked if I could sit on his lap -- it made sense at the time, okay? -- and he said yes, and when I did, he told me I was making him horny. And that was sort of ... interesting, so I said that was fine, and he kissed me, and asked if he could touch me, and I wanted so badly to please him. And then he got my jeans open and started wanking me, and that was brilliant.

"Lupin walked in and yelled at us, until he realized we couldn't understand how inappropriate this was. Then he sent us up to his room, so we wouldn't get caught."

"But he joined you."

"Right. And started telling us what to do, or it might have stayed at hand jobs."

"How far did it go?"

Harry bit his lip. "Oral sex. He had a finger up my arse, but that was all."

"Right! That's as much detail as I need, thank you."

Harry shrugged. "Okay."

"So, while you were doing that, Lupin started, um, masturbating?"

"Right. And afterwards I kind of passed out, and when I drifted back, pretended to be asleep. They were next to me, arguing about Sirius wanting a young lover, and I realized Lupin had been jealous for all of that. Sirius said he'd misunderstood, and they argued more, and then started to kiss, until Lupin said he'd Obliviate me. Sirius thought that wasn't fair, but Lupin managed to make him afraid of what I'd think of him, and he backed down to saying he wanted it reversible."

"Then Remus made you sleep?"

"Exactly."

She sighed. "Harry, that is not having sex. That is being drug-raped."

"Hermione!"

"Well, it is! You had no choice in the matter. There was no meaningful consent."

"But Sirius didn't have any choice either! 'Rape' implies an aggressor. This was just ..." Harry swung a hand at empty air. "Just the twins being careless idiots. And I enjoyed it! When I started dreaming, it turned into a massive crush on Sirius."

"Harry, look," Hermione said patiently, "I'm not saying it was his _fault_. There's just nothing about it that should make you think you're gay."

"Bi."

"Or bi."

What part of 'I have a crush on my dead godfather' are you missing?"

She waved a dismissal. "Harry, _everyone _has same-sex crushes."

"Really." He didn't believe that.

"Well, maybe not _everyone_, but most people. I don't think it's any reason to think you're attracted to men."

"How about I'm attracted to men?"

"Harry, calm down. I understand you're having a hard time dealing with this, and that's perfectly understandable. I think you should just consider that perhaps telling yourself you enjoyed it is a defense against memories of being helpless."

Harry stared at her. "But.... But I like sucking cock. I mean...." He almost wanted her to ask how he knew.

"He--" Her hand flew to her mouth. "He made you--"

"Lupin told me to."

"Oh."

"Said I should do something for Sirius, since he'd been so _good _to me, meaning sucking me off like that."

"Oh, Harry!"

"But see, _doing _it was fine! It's remembering being _told _to that gives me the creeps." Harry stood up. "I'm perfectly clear on what parts of this make me feel helpless, and it wasn't the sex."

"But--"

"No. I'm going inside, and I'm going to finish my Transfiguration essay. If you don't want to believe that I know what I feel, that's your problem."

"But Ginny--"

"I'm trying to figure that out, okay? Don't push." A few steps away, he stopped, and looked back. Hermione still hadn't moved. "But I'm not sure that has anything to do with women and men. It might just be her and me."

 

He considered those words often, over the next week. Ginny did kiss well, and they still did that most times that they were together, but those were shorter now that Quidditch practices had started. Quidditch was the one thing they really talked about, he noticed; when they discussed team strategies, or even just how it _felt_, they both became animated, and understood each other easily. So far, however, he had not been able to even bring himself to say that he thought Ritchie was fit. The Beater was growing closer to Ginny; Harry could see it, and it gave him a curious tangle of feelings. Sometimes when they spoke, their heads close together, he pictured them having sex, not so much in jealousy as in a burning desire to watch.

He felt odd, too, the next time he was with Draco. He was trying to observe all his own feelings, and it made him feel like he was moving through time as thick as honey. It wasn't bad, really, though the resulting sex was strangely gentle. When he had turned Draco away and started rubbing up against him, Draco had tensed, and then deliberately folded one leg up, exposing his hole. Harry had slathered on quite a lot of lube before pulling the leg back down. "Not like that; I want to try something I read about." He positioned his cock between Draco's thighs, so that it pressed under his sac. "Bring your legs together tight. I'm going to fuck you like that." And Draco had moaned, and Harry had kissed his neck and used his hand on Draco's cock in time to his thrusts, until they both came messily on skin and linens.

Afterwards, he wondered if his reluctance to bugger Draco was like his reluctance to touch Ginny's breasts. Did some weird part of his brain think that if there wasn't anal penetration, that Draco wasn't really his lover? How had he ended up with a former enemy as a lover, anyway? Didn't he _respect _Ginny more?

"Worried?" Draco asked, sitting up.

"What?"

"You usually look peaceful afterwards." Draco ran a hand morosely across the transfigured cushion that served them as a mattress. "Not tonight, though. Are you getting tired of it?"

"Huh?" Harry remembered what he was referring to. _Until we get tired of it. _"No! I was just-- I have some things going on."

Draco relaxed. His hand moved to Harry's hair, which he stroked sympathetically. "So tell me about them."

"Ah, well...." Harry made himself a little more comfortable against Draco's thigh and dug through his thoughts for something presentable. "Well, for one, Hermione won't believe I'm bi."

"She finds your performances with Miss Weasley unconvincing?" Draco asked mockingly.

"No, you don't understand! She thinks I'm _straight_. This delusion that I'm attracted to men is just trauma from being--" He stopped.

"Being what?" Draco looked genuinely curious now.

"Well, she says 'raped', but it was really just a potions thing." Harry twisted his head to not look up at Draco's face. "I mean, the twins left something around, you know, and my godfather and I ended up doing each other."

"Your godfather." Draco frowned. "Did you have more than one?"

"Just one. Sirius. Sirius Black."

'That would have been some time ago. I mean, unless my family was misinformed...."

"I was fifteen." Shrugging, Harry lay back and looked up at the age-darkened ceiling. "Do you remember Remus Lupin? He set up a memory block. When he died in the Battle of Hogwarts, I started to remember." He finally dared a look at Draco. In place of the many things he feared, he saw concern.

"_That _must have been uncomfortable."

"To say the least! I was suddenly having nightly dreams about sucking off my godfather. I thought I'd gone round the twist."

"And you decided to try it?" Draco guessed.

"Something like that."

"A wise choice."

Harry laughed. "I've been happy with it, mostly."

"So far, that's made this a better year than I expected."

Slowly, Harry levered himself up, so that he was sitting facing Draco. This was the closest they had come to talking about what they had been before. He studied Draco, trying to see both his old rival and his new lover. "What was last year like? Here, I mean?"

Draco tensed. "For me?" he asked. "Better than for most people. Better than home with _him _there. Still horrible." Moodily, he looked off at the dingy window. "I _like _being important, you know. And it's not like I worry about being _nice. _I had no idea that torturing people would be so horrible."

"Not that I disagree, but it wasn't like they were people you wanted to torture. I mean, it's different when you're _told _to do something, whatever it is."

"Still, a Muggle? I would have expected it to be satisfying, in some manner. Instead, it was dreary." At Harry's snort, he smiled slightly. "I told Mother that. It was the strongest objection that I thought I could speak aloud. 'Tawdry,' she corrected. 'Disappointingly vulgar, all of this.' So we at least agreed on that."

"So she was tired of it too, then?"

"She lied for you, didn't she?"

Harry bit his lip. "That was for _you_, really. I was just the best tool she had."

"Still. She's rebuilding connections with her sister Andromeda, whom I didn't know existed until a few years ago." He cocked his head, studying Harry. "You still dislike her."

"She had a lot to do with the plot that killed Sirius." Harry remembered how strange it had been to see Narcissa Malfoy at the funeral for Tonks. He'd managed to avoid having to speak to her, but it had taken some dodging. That must have been where she had started with Andromeda.

"Oh!" Draco shook his head. "That wasn't intended. I mean, she despised him -- I won't deny that -- but she was furious that Bellatrix _killed _him. He was the last male of their line, you know."

"And hadn't reproduced yet?" Harry shook his head. "That may be even more twisted, but all right. She saved my life and enabled me to get rid of Voldemort; I _am _grateful."

The phrase registered, and he met Draco's eyes. Both of them smirked. "Not enough to go down on her, though."

"Harry!" Draco mock-slapped him. "Don't even _think _that."

"I think 'grateful' is now permanently coupled with dirty thoughts in my head."

"I suggest you _not _go into diplomacy."

"I think that was a given." It was a depressing thought, just the same. Harry hadn't liked being fated to vanquish Voldemort, but it had at least been a goal. He'd felt curiously adrift since the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco was looking pensive as well.

"I'd always thought," Draco said hesitantly, "that if I was a Death Eater, I would impress people with my power. And that if Voldemort and purebloods were in control, the world would be _better_, somehow. More exciting. More purposeful. More focused on Wizarding society and life as it should be."

"And how _should _life be?" Harry challenged.

"I'm not sure anymore," Draco said baldly. "Actually, I don't know that I ever had a clear idea. Something like the way I grew up, but without my father frowning when he read the paper, or any hint that someone might want my life to be different, or for me to associate with people who lived differently."

"Would you rather not talk to me, then?"

Draco, who had been looking off into the distance, focused on him sharply. "I didn't say I wanted that _now_."

A tightness in Harry's chest, previously unnoticed, eased. "So what _do _you want now?"

With a tense shrug, Draco looked away. "I don't know. Serving the Dark Lord was horrible, and the world was uncomfortable and dangerous when he was in power, but now I've lost Father, and Mother is having tea with someone who married a Muggle-born upstart, and I have no idea what to _want_, anymore. I hate not knowing."

"Mm. I don't like it either."

Draco's head whipped around. "You _cannot _be unhappy at having won!"

"No, of course not! It's just -- I have no idea what to do with the rest of my life."

"Ah." Relaxing, Draco smiled. "Are you afraid you peaked at seventeen?"

"Almost certainly," Harry answered ruefully. "And I used to have this vague idea that if I survived, I'd become an Auror, and marry Ginny, and have a load of kids...."

"You could still do all that." Draco shrugged. "I should try for two children, I suppose."

"I don't _want _to be an Auror anymore, though. I'm tired of dealing with the Ministry; I don't want to do it every day."

"Just be a father, then. If you don't have enough money to stay home, you can probably fix that with a few well-chosen interviews."

Harry sighed. "I don't know. I think maybe to be a good father you have to be a good something else first. Not that I think I need to have a _job_, I mean, but I should have some goals, and a career might make that easier."

"What, so you don't need to choose your own?" Draco said flippantly.

Harry shook his fringe down over his forehead. Could he have goals of his own? "I know I must want to do something other than get rid of Voldemort, but that was so huge...." He shrugged. "I can't think of what."

"If it wasn't for the political aspect, would you enjoy being an Auror?" Draco studied Harry for a moment. "You would, wouldn't you? You like chasing down enemies."

"I can't really deny that, can I?"

"No." Draco stretched. "You could go freelance."

Startled, Harry looked up, and directly into Draco's eyes. The grey had texture, from this close -- points extending out from the center, like a twist of silver fur. "Become a detective, you mean?"

"Exactly."

"I'd probably end up working for the wrong people, though."

"That's what you need me for."

Harry grinned. "You?"

"Of course. I'll be your assistant, and fill you in on who's who, and tell you when I think someone's taking advantage of you."

Harry grinned. "Just call me Sherlock."

"What?"

"Never mind. It was stupid anyway. I'm not the deductive reasoning type."

"No, you're _entirely _the intuitive reasoning type. I'm the logical one."

"Are you?" Harry challenged. Draco had done some awfully stupid things, and not only ones involving Voldemort. Although now that Harry thought about it, most of the others had involved him.

"Well, yes." Draco shrugged. "That doesn't mean I always get it right. But I _do _generally draw comparative lists, if not charts, of my options. If the matter's at all important."

Harry snorted. "Do I have a chart?"

"Ha! I keep throwing yours away and starting over. After the third one this year, I stopped pretending to have a plan. You're just good company, that's all."

"So are you." Harry laughed, and tumbled Draco back down on the bed for a kiss. It lasted quite a while. "And that's something I never expected to say about you."

"Hm?"

Harry supposed it had been a while since his first statement. "That you're good company."

"Ah. The surpriseis definitely mutual."

They lay together in silence for a while longer. "I need to get back," Harry said reluctantly.

"Just in time to kiss your girl goodnight?" Draco asked tartly.

"Prat. I'm meeting with Hestia. I'm leading the Defense Against the Dark Arts study group tomorrow morning and I have to prepare." He hesitated. "You should come."

"I'm _certain _I'd be welcome."

"It's _my _group, and _I _say you're welcome."

 

It wasn't that simple. Draco didn't walk with Harry, of course; he never did that. Harry had brought the study group to a practice room -- one next to Hestia's classroom, by arrangement with her -- and they had just concluded the milling around stage and were mostly sitting in small groups on the mats on the floor, when the door opened. Draco stood in the doorway, with Millicent Bulstrode behind him. Silence shot through the room like lightning. Harry had to grab a breath before his voice would work.

"Come in," he said. "We were just about to get started."

Ron looked at him for a moment, and then wildly back at the two arrivals. "Are you mad? They're Slytherins!"

"All eighth-year students are welcome in the study group."

He heard Hermione's breath come out in a whoosh. "That's right. The headmistress made him promise, remember?"

"Besides," Harry said stubbornly. "I invited him."

"You what? Why?"

"Because the Slytherins don't spend enough time with the rest of us. The war's over, all right?"

"Right," said Ron. "And _they _fought against us."

Bulstrode's tiny eyes narrowed. "Most of us didn't fight at all."

"Because you're cowards!"

"Actually," Draco said, finally stepping inside, "nerve was immaterial. Many of us _preferred _your side after a year under Voldemort, but who wants to kill their parents and cousins and brothers in battle? You see the problem."

"That your families are even worse than you are?" Ron shot back.

"Stop it!" Harry, who had been leaning against the wall, pushed to his feet. "This is a _study group_. Fighting with each other is bad enough -- if we start dragging people's _families _into it, we'll never get anywhere. Who's comfortable with _Pectus Opo_?"

People looked at each other uneasily. Hermione grabbed Ron's arm to hold him back. Slowly, Susan raised her hand. A moment later, Anthony Goldstein did the same. Draco raised his as he sat on the floor, and only then did Hermione let go of Ron and raise her arm.

"What if we're _nearly _sure we can do it?" Seamus called, and Harry felt a giddy surge of relief as other people laughed.

"Then I'll give you a chance to try," he said cheerfully.

"What, you have cursed objects?" Draco exclaimed, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing too dangerous," Harry said. "But the professor agreed to lend me a few things." He gestured to the table beside him. "We have seven items. I'd like everyone to come up and decide which ones they believe are cursed. No touching, and no telling -- just write down your answers on one of the squares of parchment -- you don't need to put down your name, although you may if you want."

"If you don't want our names, why are we writing down the answers?" Hermione asked.

"So I can go through all of them and see which items fooled people, and then we can talk about how."

Draco nodded. "Clever," he said approvingly. "How did _you _do on them?"

Harry nearly said he'd missed one. "I was right about five," he said instead. "Now -- who'd like to go first?"

 

The lesson went fairly well. Much of the class, as Harry had, identified one of the innocuously charmed objects as cursed, and they talked about diagnostic charms that might have prevented that mistake. After it was over, Draco left quickly. He was seated at the Slytherin table by the time Harry and Ron and Hermione arrived at lunch.

 

Over the next few days, Harry continued to think about his relationship with Draco. It _was _a relationship, he decided. He _expected _to see Draco, for one thing, and they talked, and he felt defensive when Ron attacked him, even if what Ron was saying was essentially true. Furthermore this had been going on for five weeks, now. Of course, if it was a relationship, that meant several things: he was actually bi, whatever Hermione thought, not just insatiably curious; there was no point to avoiding anal sex; and he really ought to break up with Ginny.

Selfishly, he wanted to hold off on the last. Something could still happen, he felt. This connection between him and Draco might still be a thin facade that would blow up in a sudden fight about politics, or even be some elaborate game of Draco's -- although Harry was finding that increasingly hard to believe -- that he would end abruptly. Ginny could decide to leave him for Ritchie, whom she got to spend more time with, and who might actually be showing more interest. Harry thought about that. They'd be gorgeous together, but Ritchie didn't seem steady enough for Ginny. She really needed someone calm and down-to-earth, who would weather her temper and still enjoy her enthusiasm afterwards. And someone people admired -- that might seem shallow, but Harry thought it was true and couldn't fault her for it. She'd grown up with so little regard from people around her. Neville, he thought, would be better than Ritchie. A hero, yes, but an absolute brick.

Of course, Draco didn't want their relationship to come out, so if Harry broke up with Ginny, he'd be fair game for any girl, and that would get him the attentions of a bunch he didn't want at all, who weren't as fierce or as quick or as pretty as Ginny. And if one of the eighth-year girls took an interest, evading her to meet Draco would become more of an issue.

Which left him with buggering Draco. He was okay with that.

 

That settled, he planned for it, and decided he was going to be gentle about it. He didn't know what, if anything, Draco had done to himself that way. Harry had been glad to be in control of the first time he took anything of substance up the arse. In fact, even in his fantasy, he'd been in control. He'd imagined Sirius lying still, letting him set the pace..... Draco, he decided, might want something more active than that, but he'd let him choose.

Someone else had disturbed their things in the office room, so using that again seemed too risky. Instead, he made arrangements in the widest part of the tunnel to Honeydukes; as far as he knew, only Ron and Hermione knew about that, and they were unlikely to come looking for him during the middle of the afternoon. Once Draco had agreed to his whispered suggestion to meet after his Ancient Runes lesson, Harry had brought down cushions and transfigured them into a bed, surrounded it with candles affixed to the walls, and used a hex to drive off all the bugs and spiders.

Draco stared at it when he arrived. "Some sort of an occasion?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "It just looked nasty, after the office." In one motion, he dropped to the bed and rolled to the far side. Looking back at Draco, he patted the area in front of him. "Come here. I want to fuck you."

Draco rolled his eyes, but approached readily. They kissed and touched for a little while, but Harry didn't enjoy it for itself, today. His pleasure was all focused on anticipation. "Roll over," he whispered finally, unable to stand it any longer. Without comment, Draco rolled over, pressing his back into Harry's chest, and his arse against Harry's cock. Harry reached over to take Draco's cock in hand as he rubbed against him, but after a moment of teasing himself with Draco's crack, pulled back.

Draco made the usual pleased sounds as Harry slicked up his hole, but changed to a surprised "oh!" when Harry pushed a finger inside.

"What? Is this a bad time?" _I've done a lot more to you than this._

"I just -- I didn't think you really meant it. I mean, I thought you meant like last time."

The answer was so vague, that Harry laughed, lust lowering the sound. "Let me be more specific, then. I want to fuck you up your lovely arse, and find out how that tight muscle feels on my cock, rather than just on my fingers." He pushed in again as he spoke, and Draco whined with eagerness and shifted to give him better access.

"Merlin, yes! Didn't think you ever would."

"I've given up expecting I'll be bored with you tomorrow," Harry confided, shifting to two fingers and twisting them in. "I can't imagine being bored with you at all, really."

"Good," Draco answered, but the cool word was shaky. He didn't speak again, until Harry, nearly holding his breath, finally gave up on fingers and tried the entrance with his cock. At the onset, there was enough resistance that he needed to hold the base of it steady to stay on target, but once he had gained the first inch, he had to stop to breathe.

"All right?"

"Yeah." Draco breathed in and out. "I've wanted this so much. Deeper."

"God, yeah." Harry added more lube and pressed in further. It felt so good that it was agonizingly difficult to try to move slowly, but the effort, in turn, intensified the sensation. He paused to balance and stroke Draco's cock. That was softer than he expected, worrying him. "Okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just different. _Please _don't stop."

"'Kay." He rocked out, and then in again. They had enough lube now, or perhaps he was just deep enough, and his cock slid more easily. The grip of Draco's body, though, was dizzyingly tight. "You feel so good, Draco. Love--" He stopped himself. "So good," he said again, starting to rock in and out in earnest. "All right?"

"Brilliant," Draco said. Suddenly, he gasped.

"Hurt you?"

"No."

"Oh." Harry grinned. He tried to keep to the same angle as he pushed again. "Good?"

"Fuck."

"Mm, yeah." Harry sped up his motion. "Good boy. M'gonna want you all the time, now."

That produced a reaction, voiceless, but positive, and for a while they just rocked. Harry had wanted to get Draco off first, but before he could get him there, he lost his own control and began to thrust faster and harder, until his leg was cramping, but not enough to stop, and it felt so good, and he may have been saying so, and Draco was making a wailing, crying sound, but it still seemed to be pleasure, and he stretched his head back, and Harry stretched forward and they kissed until suddenly Harry was coming. He lost the kiss because he had to cry out and his mouth opened, and Draco was saying "yeah, yeah, like that."

When he finished, he collapsed, but it only took a few seconds, desperate as he still felt, to recover enough to push up to his knees, pull Draco over onto his back, and swallow his cock to the root.

 

Afterwards, they lay together, Draco still pink, and Harry almost back to normal, except for a wild, tender feeling that wouldn't recede. When Draco sighed, the sadness in it struck him with terror, even as he realized how ridiculous that was.

"What's wrong?"

Draco rolled further away. "Nothing, really. Everything."

"Did I hurt you?"

"No." Draco twisted his head for a quick kiss. "That was wonderful, really. I'd started to think you were too afraid to do it."

"I wasn't afraid."

Draco turned back to look at him. "Don't _lie_. You're terrified of going too far with me. You want to meet me all the time, but you won't pass me a note -- someone might see it. You invite me to your study group, but never speak to me when I'm there. Any time you realize you've kissed me in a hallway, you pull back in a panic."

"But you agreed. About discretion." Harry felt his heartbeat quicken again. He wasn't sure if it was with fear or eagerness. "Do you want me to say I'm with you?" People would still be awful if they knew, and he wanted to avoid that, but he also had an urge to claim Draco as his own.

"I want you to not be a hypocrite. You may be brave about physical danger, but you're no better than I am about this."

"That's fair." Trying not to feel disappointed, Harry grinned. He hoped it didn't look strained. "I'm probably worse," he offered. "You should have seen me trying to go into a sex shop, in August. A Muggle one. Glamoured. I still nearly bolted the first time a salesgirl spoke to me."

"You were in a Muggle sex shop?" Draco asked, his eyes widening. "What was it like? Did you buy anything?"

"Oh, loads of things," Harry answered. "Well, not _loads_, I suppose, but I thought I'd get a magazine, and I got two and two books -- not for wanking, you know, but _about _things -- and then the shop girl saw me looking at butt plugs, and I couldn't bear to look intimidated--"

Draco burst out laughing. "So you bought one? Did you ever do anything with it?"

"Oh, _yes_. Over the summer, though. I haven't dared since I went back to having roommates."

"Would you like to--" Draco bit his lip. "Um, I suppose it was small? Muggles can't make them adjustable, can they?"

Harry's cock gave an interested, if ineffective, twitch at the thought of Draco fucking him, or perhaps at what Wizarding sex toys might be like. "Um, no, but an Engorgement charm worked."

"You.... Merlin!" Draco looked turned on by the thought. Harry decided to get a little more explicit. "It wasn't much thicker than my thumb, on its own, but I liked that, and I kept making it bigger -- the size of my own prick, eventually. I never dared make it as big as I remember Sirius's being, but that's probably exaggerated. I was still growing, and it was my first time, and I was staring at his prick thinking that would _never _fit in my mouth."

"Mm." Draco squirmed pleasantly. "But it did?"

"Enough of it did." Harry leaned over for a kiss. "I can take you deeper. I like that."

"Hm." Draco was studying him now. "Did you like it with him? I mean, it can't have been entirely a bad memory, because then you wouldn't have...." Shrugging, he trailed off.

"Yeah, um.... Well, it was a little complicated."

"Did you know what you were doing? I mean, you should have, unless it was more than an aphrodisiac...."

"Oh, it was. It wasn't an aphrodisiac at all, really, although that's what Lupin thought when he caught us, and Sirius kept stroking my prick, and I kept kissing him, and wouldn't get off his lap. And we _didn't _know what we were doing. Not at first. Not enough to think it was odd." Harry sat up. He felt too vulnerable, lying on the soft bed. Draco looked up at him.

"He didn't stop you once he was there?"

"He tried, like I said. Then when he realized we were under the influence of something -- well, someone started trying to get in the room about then, so he told Sirius to apparate up to his -- Lupin's -- room with me, and he'd join us. But he ate some of the stuff before he joined us -- which was.... I mean, he said he was there to _protect _me, but of course he'd lost all interest in that. He told us what to do, and watched, and wanked to it, and was bitter the whole time." Harry could feel his heart racing. Excitement had twisted to a sick anger. "Maybe we shouldn't--"

"Hush," Draco said, sitting up. He reached over and grasped Harry's hand. "It's okay. You're with me."

Harry nodded. It was comforting, to have someone else there, someone about his size and his age, and not with any power over him. "It wasn't _bad_, after that," he explained. "The sex was quite good, actually, and Sirius paid attention to what I liked, and I came twice, and I made him come once, and I felt really close to him, and comfortable -- and we loved each other, but I wasn't comfortable with him a lot of the time. He expected me to be like my father and older than I was, and he tried to pretend he wasn't depressed."

"And Lupin? Hadn't you been close to him, as well?"

"Sort of, but he'd always been more fatherly. Which made it worse, I suppose. I mean, Sirius was my godfather, but he acted like we were mates a lot, so...."

"So it didn't seem as inappropriate, though technically, it was more so."

"I guess." Harry shrugged. "Also, it was affectionate, from him."

"But Lupin.... Why was Lupin angry? Do you know?"

Harry tightened his grasp. "Because he wanted Sirius back."

"Oh." Draco let out a shaky breath. "Well, that's a mess. So he had more than one reason to make you forget."

"Yeah. Though I think fear would have been enough. Especially after he realized it wasn't an aphrodisiac."

"Oh, right." Draco frowned. "What was it, then?"

Sighing, Harry sat a little more upright. "Well, what the twins said at the time was that it suppressed inhibitions. That wasn't enough to explain it all, though. I asked George, after the memory came back, and all he could say was that they'd dropped it after more testing, because it had some bad obsessive effects on some people -- Alicia, he said, was enough of a problem to end the project, but he hadn't been there, and couldn't remember what Fred had said, exactly."

"Did you ask Fred?"

Harry's head snapped to the side before he even registered why Draco had asked that. He wouldn't have followed what happened to the Weasleys, of course.

"Fred died in the Battle of Hogwarts."

"Oh." Draco shifted, and coughed awkwardly. "My apologies." Tentatively, he stroked Harry's back. "Condolences?" he ventured.

"I suppose," Harry said. "We were friends. I'm furious at him about this, though, and don't see any way to get _through _it."

"And with George?"

"I don't know. We act like we're good, but I don't think we are. I just can't go after him like he deserves, not now. It's like he's lost half of himself, you know?"

"Which doesn't help _you _in the slightest."

"No, it doesn't." Harry pulled his knees in and scowled down at his feet. "And I'm godfather to Lupin's son, and I can hardly bear to look at him. I'm furious at him, too. Lupin, I mean, not the baby. It isn't any better that he thought it was an aphrodisiac. He had no reason to think that he wouldn't fuck me once he'd taken this stuff, or to think that I wouldn't be miserable. As far as I can see, not being uncomfortable watching us was more important to him than not _raping _a drugged fifteen-year-old. I suppose what he did on the potion wasn't his fault, exactly, but that he took it was!"

Draco considered this. "And this matters to you?" he asked carefully.

"_Yes._"

Draco thought for a moment. "Depending on the phase of the moon, he may have had some resistance to aphrodisiacs."

Lifting his head, Harry stared at Draco. "You're making that up," he accused.

"Well, yes, but it's not implausible." Draco shrugged, a negligent lift of one shoulder. "Many aphrodisiacs are made with parts of magical creatures, and don't have the same effect on other magical creatures."

"He wasn't a _creature_."

"Part of him was. More, near the full moon. There are certainly many potions that affect a werewolf differently, even in the human phase."

Harry considered. That might be true, but still, it couldn't make every aphrodisiac harmless. "Thanks for trying," he said.

"I'll consider the matter," Draco promised. He reached a hand to the back of Harry's neck and stroked there, pressing too hard to be arousing -- not, Harry thought, that it would have worked, at the moment.

"We've made you all tense again," Draco whispered. "Lie down on your back. I'll rub your neck."

Harry didn't see how that could work, but it turned out it did. Draco sat cross legged above Harry's head, and massaged his neck and shoulders, and after that, his face, until Harry felt as limp as he had after sex.

The silence was comfortable. He wondered if this was another kind of love.

 

The next day, his thoughts made things more awkward with Ginny. When she finally got out of Quidditch practice -- the Gryffindor/Slytherin game was coming up -- she'd had to track him down, as he'd stayed late at Charms. She hadn't been unreasonable about it when they finally met up, just rolled her eyes.

"You might as well not be here, really," she said ruefully, "between my schedule and yours."

"Sorry--"

"Not your fault." She sent him a sly smile. "Though I'm starting to think I might need a spare boyfriend."

Harry laughed. That would be a nice, easy way to drift out of this. Anyone in her year would probably be better than he was, and she'd gradually lose interest in him. "That might work," he said easily.

She was quiet and withdrawn throughout dinner. They were onto puddings before he realized that he had been supposed to object.

 

Lessons, at least, were going well. Harry thought he might be a more motivated student than before his year off; their current study of cooking charms, for example, seemed far more useful than it would have before. That Monday, Defense Against the Dark Arts had finished their unit on how to detect if an object was cursed, or if hexes had been set on it to be triggered by an action -- the last lesson had had a doorframe set to confound anyone who went through it. With Hestia's help, Harry had designed a test course for the other eighth-years, and everyone had completed it without major damage. Draco had continued to come to the study group, although he'd stopped bringing Bulstrode along once other people -- well, Ron mostly -- had stopped making a fuss.

On Saturday mornings, right after breakfast, all the eighth-years students had Harry's least favorite class, Muggle Studies. Despite being raised by Muggles, he was tremendously bad at it -- he didn't know how anything worked, or how Muggles thought about things. He knew a lot about the opinions of his own relatives, but hardly wanted to hold them up as typical. He had certainly met Muggles who were better than that, and for every child he had seen in the shops who was just like Dudley, there were probably ten children who did not did not wail for sweets at every opportunity.

This morning, as he was glumly heading up from breakfast, lagging a bit behind his friends, Draco came up beside him.

"Cheer up, Potter," he whispered, the edge of one hand reaching over to trail up Harry's groin. Harry jerked away. Draco smirked at him. "I've got a surprise," he said, and sauntered on ahead.

 

That morning's lecture was on plastic. "Plastic" was apparently an old word that meant "moldable". Not surprisingly, Hermione already knew this.

Professor Diggins -- new this year -- was chattering enthusiastically about the many uses, ingenious and ridiculous, to which Muggles put plastic, when Harry felt someone stroke gently up his cock. He froze.

The touch turned to a hard press against the root. Nonsensically, he looked down. He was at an old fashioned one-student desk with little space beneath it. No one was there. There wasn't room for even someone invisible. Wildly, he looked around, and Draco's intense focus caught his eye. Deliberately, Draco wrapped the index finger of his left hand around the base of the pinkie of his right, and Harry felt it like a serpent coiled around his now-hard shaft. Squeezing tight, Draco twisted slowly up his finger, and Harry had to grab the edge of his desk.

_Damn it! He did something to me when he touched me in the hallway. Something to himself._

Professor Diggins was asking if anyone had other uses of plastic to contribute. Suddenly, Draco looked away from Harry. He folded his hands neatly on his desk. Even that was distracting -- a constant pressure along one side of Harry's erection. Even though he knew the student robes were adequately obscuring, Harry shifted protectively further forward in his seat.

"Phalluses," Draco said brightly.

"Really?" Professor Diggins asked. "For ornamentation?"

"No, for sex toys," Draco said perkily. "I have it on good authority that there are even some that use batteries to vibrate. And the different plastic types have different amounts of give, so...." He let that trail off significantly.

"Fascinating!" the professor exclaimed. "They must be sold in sets. Is there something for, er, female parts?"

Dean said he had seen adverts for that sort of thing, but didn't know what they were actually like. Susan asked if they could talk about something else. Draco sucked on his fingertip. Harry, with the sensation of a wet grip around his head, tried to imagine Dementor tea parties.

By the end of the lesson, Harry was ready to scream. When Draco ducked out of the classroom, Harry followed him immediately, not caring how that might look. He was just in time to see Draco cut into the boys' loo.

When Harry entered the bathroom, one of the stall doors was shut, but the room was otherwise empty. A few minutes passed, but no one else came in. Harry waited, sitting back against a sink, until the hidden toilet had flushed. Quietly, he moved forward. When the stall door started to open, he caught it with one hand and sidestepped in, pushing Draco back.

"You don't think you're going anywhere, do you?"

Draco's eyes widened. "Potions?" he tried.

"Not until I've fucked you blind."

Draco stood a little straighter. "You'll just have to wait until after lessons," he said haughtily. Harry saw a touch of challenge in that. He had misunderstood, he thought, the first time Draco had put on that look, but now he knew it for what it was -- a dare. He smiled back and then moved fast, spinning Draco around and lunging forward to grab his wrists and pin them against the wall. His shove crashed Draco's knee into the toilet, and he swore.

"Put a foot up on that," Harry instructed. The wall was clammy under his fingers, Draco's wrists warm and surprisingly slight against his palms. He liked the feel of them, but he needed his hands for other things -- dealing with clothes, for example, and stretching Draco enough --_ just _enough -- to take him.

"You wouldn't," Draco said, his voice shaking. That wasn't fear, Harry thought, as he kissed the back of Draco's neck.

"Maybe not, if I hadn't been teased all through Muggle Studies. By now, though, I'd do just about anything."

Draco laughed, low and satisfied, and Harry dropped his hold on his right wrist to use his wand. Draco twisted as he cast, but Harry managed to stick the left wrist where it was. Then he just had to catch Draco's right wrist again, while Draco tried to evade him. In the end, that one was stuck to the wall as well.

"Have to be quiet!" Draco whispered, almost giggling.

"Very," Harry agreed at a murmur, thrusting up against him.

"Mm. Just rubbing off?"

"Oh no." Harry opened his robe and unzipped his jeans. Despite his words, he couldn't keep from rubbing a little -- a few indulgent slow thrusts against the fine wool of Draco's robes. He rucked those up and undid Draco's trousers, letting them drop to the floor.

"This floor is disgust--"

"You know cleaning charms," Harry said, stroking the smooth skin of Draco's arse. "God, I want you. Foot up on the toilet, like I said."

"Do you have lube?"

"Of course."

Draco laughed shakily. "Never know who you'll run into?"

"Never know when I'll run into you." Harry pressed a finger against Draco's hole, and Draco, with a moan, finally brought his foot up.

"Oh, that's good," Harry said, feeling his passage ease with the change. He pushed another finger in. "Yeah, you're going to feel so good." In contrast to his leisurely preparations the first time, he had barely satisfied himself that he could sink three fingers to the root before he moved in to take their place with his cock. As he pushed inside, Draco's breath came out in high, surprised voice, but it didn't have the edge of pain.

"God," Harry moaned. He forced himself to stop where he was, giving Draco time for a long breath or two. "Was that what you wanted? For me to need you _right now_?"

"Oh yes," Draco said, pushing back. "Don't wait. Fuck me like you wanted to all lesson."

"Damn." Harry grabbed Draco's hips and held him steady for a thrust, and then pulled him down into the one after that. "You're such a brat. When you sucked on the tip, I was afraid I'd come in my pants." He pressed forward to suck on the side of Draco's neck and Draco tilted his head to let him. Harry pulled the skin up against his teeth, as his hips rocked forward, again and again, pushing into the tight heat of Draco's arse. They were both breathing hard, trying not to cry out. He worked his mouth at skin, instead, making marks instead of noise. Draco twisted, a tight, frantic motion, as if he too needed to do something besides scream. Remembering an old fantasy, Harry brought his hand in front of Draco's face, and Draco bit down on the meaty side of the palm and sucked _hard_. Harry's hips began to move faster, his legs starting to hurt from lifting, his elbow scraping against the stall at each push, but with no thought to spare for either circumstance, and no control for anything but _not screaming_. He came gagging himself with a mouthful of Draco's neck, and the moment his free hand squeezed up Draco's cock, Draco followed, sending streaks of white to drip down the grey stone wall.

Harry sank down on his heels, and Draco's body immediately forced out his shrinking cock.

"Wow. That was brilliant."

"Worth being teased?"

"Mm, maybe. I couldn't take that every day, though. Not even every week."

"I'll hold it in reserve."

"I don't know whether to be excited or afraid."

"Being _both _would be sensible."

Harry released Draco, and then cast a cleaning spell on his jeans and pulled them up. Draco settled on the toilet to do a more thorough job on his trousers.

"Do you suppose we'll get a Hogsmeade weekend soon?"

Harry, recalling what they intended to get in Hogsmeade, shivered. "If not, maybe we should just sneak out."

"Oh no!" Draco exclaimed. "Not with my body! I'm on probation, you realize. Professor McGonagall would love a chance to get rid of me." He bit his lip until it darkened. "Honestly, probably everyone would."

"Not me," Harry said.

Draco smiled.


	6. Conflict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sex in a semi-public space

It felt like a major change to Harry, but for the next two days, everything continued as it had been. On Monday, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Hestia announced that the next subject was fire-based hexes and counter-hexes. When she conjured a flame, Harry heard a slight whimper behind him and to the left. Draco's voice was immediately familiar, while also being in the wrong context. Harry was used to that sound meaning pleasure, and in this case, it was clearly anything but. He couldn't help glancing back. Draco was sickly pale. Harry wanted to go over and hold him. _Just a flame_, he thought at him. _A tame one_. Draco seemed to focus on him, so he smiled, and Draco, though his face was still chalk-white, sat back.

 

"Malfoy's scared of fire, now, is he?" Ron said with relish, as the lesson ended. "That's brilliant. Did you see him bolt?"

Harry had. He'd been too far forward in the classroom to go after Malfoy without obviously chasing him. "Yeah, I saw. I don't feel too great about it either," he lied, hoping that would shut Ron up.

"Really?"

"Well, I don't mind it in a fireplace," Harry improvised. "In her hand like that, though ... look, let's just get dinner, okay?"

"Fine, mate," Ron said, sounding a little worried. Behind him, Hermione was looking at Harry strangely. He hoped he hadn't conjured fire in front of her since the fight in the Room of Requirement. "I've wanted to talk to you about this maneuver Ginny has the Beaters doing, anyway...."

Harry suspected that was as much a lie as his own improvisation. He appreciated it.

 

Draco wasn't at dinner. Harry claimed a sudden stomach ache and went looking for him. He wasn't in the Common Room, and there was no answer to Harry's knock on the Slytherin boys' door. On a hunch, Harry started up the stairs to where the Room of Requirement had been -- still was, sort of -- but on the second floor landing, he encountered Draco coming down. "Follow me," he said, and Draco did.

Harry had intended to ask if Draco wanted to talk, but once around the corner, he had to pull him in for a kiss. Draco sighed and put his arms around Harry, but his mouth was passive.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

"Uh-huh," Draco said, with notable vagueness.

"Should we go to the tunnel?"

"Whatever you like," Draco said distantly. "Don't expect much response."

Harry pulled back. "Why? Did I do something wrong?"

Draco smiled slightly. "Just a Calming Potion," he said. "Because of the fire, you know. You can still do anything you like to me. I won't mind."

Harry remembered how pale Draco had looked in their lesson. "Don't talk rubbish," he chided fondly, putting a hand on Draco's back. "I want you to enjoy it, not to _not mind_."

"Well, that was how you were for Sirius, wasn't it?" Draco said reasonably, but he leaned into the contact. Harry squeezed him closer.

"I was damn responsive, actually, except for the times when I got confused. Would you feel better outdoors?"

After thinking for a moment, Draco nodded. "Yes, I think so."

"All right, then." When Draco straightened, Harry's hand moved down to his elbow, but he wasn't willing to let go entirely. "Let's go, then."

Draco walked placidly beside him, only pulling out of contact when they were turning the corner before the stairs. They went down side by side, passing a few students who were running into dinner late, and then crossed the Entrance Hall to step outside.

"Lake?" Harry asked.

"Mm." Draco looked almost as dreamy as Luna. "Rose garden?" At Harry's amused look, he shrugged. "It's the most like home."

"Ah." Harry hadn't thought of it that way, before, but he supposed Draco would find formal gardens comforting. "Rose garden it is." On the way under the trellis arch, he took Draco's hand, and Draco led him to a bench by some late, multi-colored roses. Most of the flowers in the garden had died, but these seemed to have been stopped, rather than killed, by the cold, and clung to the bush in tight, persistent, yellow and orange blooms. Harry sat beside Draco and pulled him close. Draco leaned against him, gripping his far arm tightly, but laughed slightly, a vibration against Harry's chest more than a sound.

"What?"

"You'll get caught, you know. You shouldn't sit with me when I'm like this, because I can't help holding on."

"I don't mind you holding on," Harry said gently. "I don't even mind if we're caught." He sighed. "But you would, wouldn't you? You're right." With that, he tried to straighten out of the hold, but Draco clung tighter.

"I don't care."

"You're not thinking normally. You said it would be bad for your marriage prospects, remember?"

"Still. I never cared, really. I won't marry someone with false expectations. Mother says it just creates trouble."

Harry snorted. "Yeah. I bet it would."

Draco twisted to look up at him. "But you will."

"No." Harry shook his head. "I've been holding her off, trying to determine what expectations I could fulfill."

"Ah." Draco finally let go and sat up, leaving a line of chill where he had been pressed against Harry's side. "And?"

"Not much, I think. She deserves better."

"Who cares?" Draco said scornfully. "What do you _want_, Harry?"

_You_, Harry thought, overlaying a derisive _Slytherin!_ that was equally deep in his heart. For a moment, he couldn't speak. "I think I might want a boyfriend," he said, almost managing to make it sound light. "Would you be available?"

"You have me already," Draco scoffed.

Turning in the seat, Harry grasped his hand again. "_Not _on the side," he said intently. "For real. In public -- and don't think it won't make the papers! Will you? Or is that further than disclosure to a potential breeding prospect goes?"

The look he got back was so angry that the first words didn't make any sense. "I would be delighted," Draco said coolly, "and amazed. But if you continue to be that derisive of my duty to my family, it is unlikely to last long."

It took a moment for Harry to process that, but when he did, he pulled Draco closer. "I'm sorry," he said. "You can have any woman you like while you're with me, as long as she knows about me."

Draco laughed. "Ditto, I suppose. Which means you must deal with Miss Weasley."

"Tonight," Harry promised. He stood, bringing Draco to his feet in his wake. "But you should probably retreat into your dormitory and stay there until Ron's first rage is over. Would you like me to bring you food?"

"Oh, you know how Calming Draught is. I won't really care."

Harry froze. He felt like he had been hit and spun around. "No, I _don't _know, actually," he said carefully. "I've never had it."

Draco stared. "_Never_? I know some people overuse it, but I could name a dozen times it would have been appropriate for you."

With a high, strained feeling, Harry laughed. "Cedric dying and Voldemort using my blood to make a new body, maybe? Sirius dying? But then I would have missed the embarrassing satisfaction of trashing Dumbledore's office." He shook his head. "I can't count on anything you've said tonight, can I?"

"No! I mean, it's not like that."

"But it is." Harry bit his lip. "You might regret this all in the morning."

"No!" Draco insisted. "I'm mad for you. I want you. I love you, even. This is like some sort of perfect dream." He closed his eyes. "Though you're right. I wouldn't ever say that, would I? I know I wouldn't."

Stepping close, Harry kissed him. Draco seemed soothed by being held tight. His own arms wrapped as desperately around Harry as they had in the fire.

"Then tell me tomorrow," Harry said softly. "I'll still tell her we're through; I meant that. But not until I talk to you when you're normal. Okay?"

"Okay." Draco leaned into him, hiding his face. Harry's shirt felt hot underneath it. "I understand, but I won't change my mind. I _won't_."

"Okay. I just want to be sure."

"You're good." Draco looked up, his face streaked with tears, but smiling easily. "Mad, and a bit perverted, but good."

"Thanks," Harry said dryly. "I think. So...." He stood, and with a bow, stepped back. "Another twelve hours of discretion?"

"Hmph!" Draco tossed his head. "Six at most."

"Do you wake up early?"

Draco smirked. "Do you wake up hard?"

"I'll meet you in the showers, before dawn."

"Mm." Draco licked his lips. "Agreed."

Dinner was still in progress; when they walked past the Great Hall, they could hear a steady susurrance of conversation and clinking of dishes and cutlery. They continued on to the eighth-year dormitories. No one was there. Harry led Draco to his door, kissed him goodnight, and then headed down to the kitchens for food.

 

Harry set an Alarm charm on a sock for half an hour before dawn. It warmed beneath his hand, waking him slowly. When it started to feel spiky, he woke enough to remember why it was there. Moving as quietly as possible, he slipped out of bed, drew on a dressing gown, and tiptoed out to the showers.

No one else was about. He wondered if Draco would show, or if he was sound asleep, or if he was lying in bed, terrified of what he had said.

_I love you. _Harry had let that pass without comment, as he hadn't been sure what to say, but it warmed him to remember it, to recall the open, earnest look on Draco's face as he'd said it.

His entrance triggered the light charm on the bathroom ceiling. It didn't get especially bright at night, but it was easily enough to see by. The change let him know the room had been empty before he came in, so there was no point in searching for Draco. Unlike the Quidditch changing rooms, the dormitories had individual showers, but they were roomy enough. He went to the one in the corner -- there were two, and two baths -- disrobed, and turned on the water.

Because he was there, and he didn't know if Draco would show, he began by washing. He did it slowly, enjoying the feeling of running his hands down his body, but not touching his swelling cock. He enjoyed it from inside and out, he thought, a little ashamed of the vanity of that, but the strong lines of his chest felt good under his hands.

The door opened. Harry froze. Was it Draco, or someone else? "Hello?" he called.

The silence stretched out. Harry prepared himself to claim insomnia, unless whoever it was left, having wanted an empty room. Footsteps crossed the floor. "Hi," Draco whispered.

He came in clothed. Splashes of water ran off his dressing gown like it was rubber. Harry slid a hand inside it, stroking dry skin, another man's flat chest, slighter and smoother than his own, with faint curved ridges of ribs. "Get that off."

"I just didn't want it to show outside," Draco explained, and hung it from the wall.

"Good thought," Harry agreed. "I wouldn't want to get caught now."

"You've changed your mind, then?"

Harry wrapped a hand around Draco's still-soft cock. "Right before confessing, I mean. I'll be better off if I admit to it on my own. Unless you've changed yours?"

Draco made a soft, pleased sound. His shaft was starting to swell in Harry's slowly moving hand. "What if I have? Will it all stay the same?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I'm breaking up with her. I'll just be less specific about why." _It will be harder to meet_, he wanted to say, but he held back. Draco might be going anywhere with this.

"That's good to know," Draco said. "I haven't -- changed my mind, I mean. I'd love being with you, _and _being seen with you. I just wanted to be sure you wouldn't hold losing her against me later, if this doesn't work out."

"I won't," Harry promised. "You're wonderful. If we broke up now, you'd still have been a wonderful first lover."

"First?" Draco asked, surprised, his reaching fingers glancing off of Harry's erection.

"Well, Sirius hardly counts, really."

"Is that _all _you'd done?"

"Couldn't you tell?"

"No." Draco laughed. "It's good I didn't know before you buggered me that first time; I'd have been terrified."

"You _were _terrified," Harry replied, moving hip to hip with Draco, and starting to wank him in earnest. Belatedly, Draco returned the favor. "And besides, I'd done it to myself."

"Mm. May I, sometime? Not now; I think we should keep this simple."

"Right. The 'not get caught' point." Harry kissed him hard. He was farther along than he would have believed possible from just hands. "I'd love you to fuck me."

"You plan to make this quick, too, I see."

"Oh, is that getting you hot?" Harry asked innocently, speeding up his strokes. "Thinking about having me spread out and ready -- under the Quidditch stands, perhaps? During a game -- no one will wander down then, and there'll be lots of noise to cover the sound of you slapping into my thighs as you lose control and speed up...."

"Fuck!" Draco exclaimed, at a strangled whisper. "You're bloody filthy, Potter."

"Does that mean you like it?"

"_That _would be worth missing a game for."

Harry chuckled. That was high praise from either of them. "Oh, but we wouldn't miss the game," he said softly. He adopted a quiet imitation of an announcer's manic voice. "Coote slams a Bludger into Davenish, and Weasley intercepts, flying the Quaffle deep into the Slytherin end..."

"Yeah," Draco panted, his eyes closing.

"Coote tries to cover her --" Harry rocked into Draco's hand and dropped the tone -- "and, God! he wants to _cover _her. But where we are, it smells like earth--"

He wasn't sure what slight sound warned him, but he swallowed the next words just as the door opened. Quickly, he grabbed Draco's wand from his robes, and with a whispered _mobilicorpus_, sent him bobbing up into the air.

_What?_ Draco mouthed.

"So your feet don't show," Harry said in a close whisper.

"Who's there?" called a voice. Justin.

"Harry," called Harry, hoping his voice didn't sound too breathless. On the other hand, that was hardly suspicious. Why else did anyone shower in the wee hours of the morning?

"I'll be right out," Justin said quickly, and went into a toilet.

Draco was floating at a very tempting height. Watching his face, Harry leaned forward and licked up his cock. Draco bit his lip. Harry reached an arm under Draco's thighs, and pulling him close, sucked in the head, trusting the shower to cover any noise. A toilet flushed, and a stall door opened and clattered closed, and Draco's body arched up into his mouth. Justin raced through washing his hands and was out of the room in seconds, the door banging behind him just as Draco's mouth opened in a silent scream. Harry was ready for the thick flood. Rather than swallowing, he let it flow out of his mouth, watching raptly as water bore it over Draco's thighs and down the drain. He lowered Draco down from the spell.

"Kneel," he said. "Please?"

With a sly smile, Draco knelt, and Harry pulled on his own cock a few final times and was suddenly _there_, pumping out thick streams of white onto Draco's face and watching them flow away in the falling water. Draco flicked out his tongue to lick some of it in passing.

"God," Harry swore as it all cleared. He pulled Draco up into a kiss. "You're so hot. You drive me completely out of my mind. I can't believe I was sucking you while he was in here."

"He's afraid of you."

"Just 'cause he suspects I'm bent," Harry replied, grinning.

"Oh really?" Draco looked curious, but his attention was caught by the room's high window. It was faintly lighter than the wall. "Tell me later; we'd better get out of here. How to do it?"

Harry thought. "He knows I was here, so I better go first, in case he's still outside. If the Common Room's empty, I'll knock twice on the door, and you can come out."

"All right. Don't wait for me, though."

"I won't." Harry grinned. "I'd want to kiss you again."

"Again?"

"Yeah."

They kissed.

 

Tuesday afternoon, shortly before lessons got out for the younger students, Harry caught Neville in Greenhouse Five.

"Hi."

"Harry?" Neville looked up, but only for a moment. The plant in front of him was obviously nothing to mess with. Long spikes dripped a vile-looking black ooze onto his dragonhide gloves.

"I wanted to talk. Is this a bad time?"

"Nah. I've been working with Deaththorn for a while. The poison isn't really instantaneous. What's up?"

"Um...." Harry reconsidered for a moment, but then decided that Neville probably knew his own limits. "I wanted to give you a heads-up. I have the impression that you might be interested in Ginny."

Another brief glance showed that he'd caught Neville's attention. "Harry, look. She's fit, and she's clever, and she's brave -- a man would be a fool not to notice her. But you're the one she wants, and even if I had a chance, you know I wouldn't get in your way."

"Well, that's it," Harry said. "I don't want her, really. Not enough. I'm planning to break up with her--"

Neville jerked back, knocking over the large pot. He only just managed to catch it in time to avoid being impaled by the thorns.

"Um ... Are you sure this is a good time?"

Deliberately, Neville set the pot to one side. He took off his gloves, stepped out of range of the thorns, and folded his arms across his chest. "Go on."

"Er, after the seventh-years are out of lessons, I plan to break up with her. I thought you might want to know." Under Neville's stare, Harry bit his lip. "Um, so you can comfort her, you know? I think the two of you would be a good match."

"How so?" Neville asked, his normally mild voice almost dangerous.

"Er, you know." Shrugging, Harry worked to remember Neville's words. "Fit, and bright, and brave, and all."

"So why aren't you keeping her?"

"I'm more interested in someone else, I suppose."

"Ah." Neville looked lost for a minute. "Um, well, I think you're mad, but thanks. This is decent of you."

Harry grinned. Neville wouldn't think that for long. "Your main competition, incidentally, is the Gryffindor Beater Ritchie. Hot as they'd look together, I think you and she might work better."

Neville nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good."

 

Harry met Ginny coming out of her Transfiguration class. "Walk?" he invited.

"Of course. Lake?"

That made him smile. She'd never suggest the rose garden. That was comfortable, but didn't bring him to anything new. "Fine."

They walked over the green, smooth grass, and then over the rocky ground beyond. He felt nervous, and uncomfortably tender towards her. He was almost certain she was expecting something more pleasant than what was to come.

They stopped by a pebble beach, under a great tree, and she turned towards him. "So," she said.

"So." Harry took a deep breath. "I haven't really been a very good boyfriend for you," he started. The next words stuck in his throat. He could only look at her. She was beautiful, her hair dappled with fire where the sunshine danced through the shifting leaves.

"Are you going to try to be better?" she challenged teasingly, moving closer, and lifting her face for a kiss.

Sighing, he stepped back. "No."

"No?" She froze, confused.

"Much as I'd like to kiss you -- or more -- no." He sighed. "Ginny, I really think we're not reconnecting."

Her smile vanished. "Reconnecting from _what_?" she demanded.

"From when I left. I mean, it's not like it was two years ago."

"Of course it's not! You avoid me!"

"I don't _want _you like I did. And we never talk, except about Quidditch."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course we only talk about Quidditch! That's all boys talk about."

"I don't know. I seem to talk about more after sex."

"After..." She stared at him, and he let it hit her slowly. "You've never had sex with me."

"No. Not that I haven't wanted to, but you'd take it as meaning that I'm staying, I think."

"When?" she asked, her head lowering angrily. "More than once?"

"Well, George took me to a prostitute over the summer, but most--"

"WHAT?"

"He said I shouldn't be a virgin, and I said I wasn't sure I'd like it with--"

"I'll _kill _him!"

"Well, I would have anyway. Some girl I didn't care about, I mean, paid or not. As soon as school started, I found someone to experiment with."

"You've been cheating on me _all year_?"

She was furious. Harry couldn't help thinking that was less than two months, but he still ducked his head. "I wasn't really thinking of us as together."

"Really? You kiss all your friends goodnight?"

"No, but-- I mean, I realized, finally, that I _do _treat you as a girlfriend, and I shouldn't, because this isn't really what you want--"

She slapped him. He was surprised it wasn't a punch, really; Ginny was perfectly capable of one.

"Who is she?" she demanded.

"My fault, Ginny," he said warningly. "I was the aggressor. No one stole me from you."

"Fine." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Who?"

He readied himself to evade an attack. "Draco Malfoy."

She didn't punch him that time, either. She froze, her hand lifted and somewhat back.

"Malfoy? You're throwing me over for _Malfoy_? For a slimy Death-Eater _boy_?"

"We've been getting along," Harry said, a surge of protective anger insulating him from guilt. On the crest of it, he smiled. "It's much more than sex, now."

She didn't throw a punch then, either. She darted away, drew her wand, and hit him with a Bat-Bogey hex, and then with something else that made pain blossom behind his eye. "You two-faced, horrible, snake-kissing _rat_! Don't you DARE ever speak to me again!"

Harry lifted his hand to toward the pain, but his fingers caught on leathery wings, and tiny claws scraped against them. While he was fumbling for his own wand, she ran.

 

It took less than a minute for Harry to dispel the hex, but it felt like much longer, and his nose was still sore when the bats had stopped. After charming the blood away, he hurried back up toward the castle. He hoped that Neville had followed them; he didn't feel Ginny should be alone now. His desire for privacy seemed belatedly selfish.

Neville had, at least partway. He jogged out from behind the rhododendrons, just as Harry was coming up to them, and for a moment paused at the sight of Harry's face.

"Go on!" Harry snarled. "I can't help her."

With a nod, Neville sped up, pounding down the slope, and Harry continued on.

When he got back to the eighth-year common room, Ron and Hermione weren't there. Hermione would be in Arithmancy, of course, with Draco. Ron also wasn't in their dormitory, so Harry went back out to wait. He wanted to get this part done, but he hoped Ron and Hermione came in together. It would be better to get this over at one time ... and, of course, Hermione might keep Ron from killing him.

 

Ron returned alone, but a little past the time that the late lesson would get out. "Hermione not back yet?" he asked, plopping down on the sofa across from Harry's.

"N--"

"What happened to your face?"

"Oh." Harry had checked that in the washroom. Ginny may not have physically punched him, but it certainly looked like someone had. "Fight."

"Well, _obviously_. I was hoping for--"

The door opened. Hermione entered, followed by Draco and Susan.

"Draco," Harry called. "Your room. Now."

With one alarmed look at Harry, and then another at Hermione, who had stopped in front of him, Draco nodded. He dashed to his door, muttered the password to the serpent latch, and ducked inside. People stared.

"Neat trick," Ron said admiringly. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

Despite himself, Harry laughed. "Probably not. So I, um, need to talk to you and Hermione about something."

"Oh?" Hermione asked. She looked uneasily between him and Ron. "Together?"

Ron laughed. "What, have you two been having an affair behind my back?"

"Ron!"

"If I was picking a girl to shag, it would be one I didn't care about. Hermione doesn't qualify."

He snorted. "Backwards, Harry! Besides, what about my sister? Not that--"

"I _do _care about her, we've never shagged, and I just broke up with her."

Ron stopped laughing. Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. Parvati's nearby conversation with her sister faltered.

"You _what_?"

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "She must be heartbroken!"

"Well, I sent Neville after her...."

"You BROKE UP with her?" Ron roared. "WHY?"

"I--" Harry caught himself before he answered too directly. Ron looked nearly murderous as it was. "It wasn't working."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. She was wringing her hands. "Please tell me this is nothing to do with this ridiculous misconception that you're gay."

"I am _not gay_!" Harry snapped. The entire room was listening now, although most people were pretending not to look. Hermione started to relax, which made him even more angry. "I like girls just _fine_, Hermione. Except that I like men too, and--"

"Harry, you were in no condi--"

"SHUT UP!" he roared. "That is not EVERYONE'S business, and it also has _nothing _to do with what I feel now."

"Oh." She looked around, realized what she'd almost announced, and ducked her head. "Um, sorry. But if that's all you've done--"

"Actually, I'm sort of with Draco." He coughed. "No. _Really _with Draco. And we do--"

With an incoherent roar, Ron launched himself at Harry. Harry, who had been expecting this, dived down, and the first punch went over him. Ron managed a weak kick in passing, and then they had exchanged positions. Harry watched Ron closely, calculating his possible moves.

"I'll kill you," Ron snarled. "You _traitor_."

"War's over, Ron."

"So?" Ron spat. "He's still a coward, and a _sneak_, and a bigot, not to mention a SPOILED LITTLE BRAT." He attacked again, bearing Harry down. Harry got a leg crossed between them before the pin and used it to lever free, elbowing Ron in the ribs and taking a blow to the side.

"Better than you think."

"Not better than GINNY!" Ron pulled his arm back for a punch. _Obvious, Ron_, Harry thought. _Easy to block or dodge_. Ron swung, and Harry sidestepped out of the way and moved back for an attack ... only to find that Ron was still where he had been, windmilling his arms in an attempt not to fall. Hermione tapped her wand against her hand.

"There," she said briskly. "If you could stop being such _boys _for a moment, perhaps we could discuss this."

"Discuss it? He's screwing the ferret and you want to _discuss _it?"

"Yes," Hermione said firmly. "Ron, listen. If someone had told you he would do that, would you have believed them?"

"Believed them? I didn't even know he fancied blokes!"

"I wasn't about to--" Harry silenced as Hermione raised a hand.

"Answer the question, Ron. Yes or no?"

"No!"

"Good." She turned to Harry. "Now, if someone had described this situation to you last spring?"

"I would have asked what the twins had been feeding them. But--"

"Hush." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "Clearly, Draco has done something to you. This simply--"

"WHAT?" Harry shouted. "Hermione, _I know what I'm feeling_."

"Of course you think you do," she said reasonably, "But it isn't really that simple. You know you wouldn't know it if you were under the influence of a love potion, for example, and you wouldn't--."

"He did _not _give me a love potion!"

"You see?" she said. "You're defending him. You have to know that's not normal."

"Hermione, he didn't! Love potions aren't gradual, for one thing, and for ano--"

"You said you wouldn't have believed it."

"Not in May. By the end of August--"

"Harry, you're confused. You had a terribly traumatic summer, and it's perfectly understandab--"

"You are fucking INSANE!"

Ron laughed, a rough bark of sound. "Wouldn't throw that word around if I was you."

"Harry, please," Hermione pleaded. She looked terribly anxious. He felt sorry for her, despite being annoyed. "I need you to come with us to Madam Pomfrey."

"Why not Slughorn, if you think it's a potion?"

"I'm not sure it's a potion, and I don't trust him when there's a Slytherin involved."

"Don't be ridiculous. He's never shown the slightest interest in cultivating Draco. He's not Snape, you know."

"That's true, but I'm still not sure it's a potion." Hesitantly, she reached out and touched his hand, but didn't quite take it. "Will you come? If you're right, you know, it won't do any harm."

Harry huffed. "If it makes you feel better--"

The door opened. Harry had almost managed to forget the audience they had for this revealing fight, but now he looked around: all the Gryffindors except Neville; Justin, Ernie, and Susan from Hufflepuff; Bulstrode and Pansy -- the stories Draco told somehow had him thinking of her that way -- from Slytherin. Ravenclaw, not surprisingly, was woefully unrepresented; they tended to stay in the library as long as possible. The person entering was Theodore Nott. He froze two steps in to the room.

"What's all _this_?" he snarled, taking in Ron's state and Hermione's drawn wand, and everyone else's attention. "Gryffindor mating rituals?"

"Potter's shagging your roommate," Justin volunteered, sounding amused.

"WHAT? I'll fucking _kill _the little prick!"

Ron, still stuck to the floor, drew his wand. "Touch Harry, snake, and you die."

Nott snorted. "Potter's _your _problem, Weasel." He advanced on the door to his and Draco's room.

"Theo," Pansy warned. She darted across the room to cut between him and the door, but he motioned her aside.

"Stay out of it, Pansy. The toff's crossed a line."

"He's one of us."

"Not anymore, he ain't. Not if he's playing with Potter's wand."

The shocked whispers that had underlain the fight among Harry, Ron, and Hermione had fallen silent. No one doubted that Nott could take this grievance to murder. Justin had gone white. All attention was on the Slytherins as Harry quietly slipped his wand from his sleeve. Nott shoved Pansy out of his way and started banging on the door.

"Come out of there, you stinking blood-traitor poof!"

Harry may have been the only person who saw Pansy's wand drop. Everyone saw Nott freeze, arm lifted for another blow.

"Draco?" she called. "You'd better come out now. I have him. I think you should move to our room."

There was no reply. Harry cast his own spell. A wand came shooting through the air into his hand.

"HARRY!" Ron roared, aggrieved, and without thinking, tried to turn. For a second time, he flailed at the air to avoid a fall. "Give that back!"

"Draco?" Harry called, ignoring him. "Nott is petrified. Pansy has her wand out and I have my wand out. Ron isn't petrified, but he's stuck to the floor, and I have his wand. It may be the best you get."

There was a brief pause, and the door opened a tiny crack.

"Don't you dare, ferret!" Ron snapped, and it opened a little bit more. "We're on to you! We'll get Harry out of this; don't think we won't!"

"Draco!" Pansy embraced him as soon as he emerged. "Really, darling! You'll need to move to our room if you actually plan to shut your eyes. Nott is quite wild."

"I heard," Draco answered dryly, taking in Nott's current state with a flick of his eyes. Harry drifted closer, wanting to protect him, but not to intrude too much.

"You have _deplorable _taste," Pansy said, shooting a dirty look at Harry, "but I hardly think you deserve to die for it." She tossed her hair back. "And after all, it's not as if I'm _surprised_. I've seen how the two of you make eyes at each other."

"And here I thought we were being discreet."

"Not terribly. _Do _tell me he's at least good in bed."

"Bed?" Draco said innocently. "Are there supposed to be beds involved?"

Unable to resist, Harry closed the remaining distance and brushed a hand up the back of Draco's neck. "Are you insulting my Transfiguration skills?"

"Not at all," Draco purred. "Your beds, when you bother, are quite convincing. But you know I like it up against the wall."

Harry's breath caught. His voice dropped. "Any time."

Draco squirmed and bit his lip. He looked like he wanted to ask for it right now, audience be damned. "I think I _should _have more immediate priorities," he said shakily. He glanced at the petrified Nott, and some of his composure returned. "For the moment."

Pansy smirked. "Well. Good to have that settled. Fetch your things, now."

Draco didn't. "Where will I sleep?"

"Well, I _would _say with me, but I doubt I could resist molesting you, and that would make you cross. Switch with Mil, I think." She turned to Bulstrode. "You're capable of handing Theo, are you not?"

Bulstrode nodded her large, square head. "Yeah."

"It's all settled, then."

"Wait a moment!" Hermione exclaimed. "He can't go into a women's dormitory. They're guarded against that!"

Pansy stared for a moment, and then laughed. "Oh, how delightful! You mean you haven't tried? They're not this year." Her smile grew crueler. "And you with a boyfriend! No wonder he's in a state about Potter. The poor thing is probably mad with jealousy that his best friend is getting some."

"Pansy?" Draco said quietly. Harry suspected he was the only other person close enough to hear. "Please don't bait them until I've moved."

She froze. Slowly, her smile became kinder. "Anyway," she said to Hermione, "don't worry about it. We established in sixth year that he has an aversion to girl bits."

"I really think it was the sherry," Draco muttered, and Harry choked on a laugh.

"All right," Harry proclaimed, tapping his wand against his thigh. "Get on with it." With deliberate slowness, he walked back to Ron and Hermione, hoping this would distract her from interfering. It seemed to work. His back itched, knowing Pansy was behind him with her wand drawn, but Draco felt her affection for him was genuine, and Draco counted so few people as friends that Harry was inclined to trust his judgment.

When Draco had disappeared into the Slytherin women's room, a last few odds and ends floating behind him, Harry turned to Ron, and handed him back his wand. Hermione, with a startled little jump, said "Oh!" and unstuck his feet from the floor.

"So," Harry said. "Hospital wing?"

"So you see the problem?" Hermione said happily.

"No. But you're obviously going to insist, and I was about to agree when Nott walked in."

"Ah." She sighed. "Well, that will do for the moment."

"Honestly, mate," Ron said, as they started down the corridor to the stairs, "that was absurd. We'll figure out what he did to you, and then we can fix it. I'm sure Ginny will forgive you, once she understands."

"He _didn't _do anything to me!" Harry insisted. The words caught up to him. "Well, actually, he's done rather a lot, but not in the way you mean."

"Harry, look. I can't believe you'd suddenly decide that you fancied blokes, and even if you did, Malfoy would be the last one you'd pick."

Harry considered that as they started up the stairs. As the left the first landing, he glanced over. "What," he said, "do you think it should be someone I paid more attention to? Obsessed about? Spied on? Attacked when he stopped paying attention to me? Oh, wait. That was all Draco, wasn't it?"

"I don't think obsession is much basis for a relationship, Harry," Hermione argued. "But it _is _enough to make you more susceptible to control magic."

"I am NOT susceptible to control magic!"

"You have to admit the blokes thing came out of nowhere," Ron argued. "I mean, who have you shown any interest in? Ginny and Cho, right?"

"I think I might have had a bit of a thing for Cedric too, in retrospect. And your brother Bill, at first."

"And just didn't show it at all?" Ron said skeptically.

"Well it's all a muddle at that age. You should know that."

"Still...." Ron said, as they left the stairs.

"Do you remember the night before I left the Burrow? I woke up from a dream?"

Ron's brow creased with thought. "You were having a lot of nightmares, then."

"Yeah. Except that one wasn't a nightmare. You even said that you thought it was a good dream until I started calling out to Sirius."

Ron slowed. Harry dropped back to pace him. "And I let you believe that," he said, "and I went to the bathroom and wanked, and in the morning, I fled to London, and ended up making arrangements to move here. And that was before Draco."

"But not before--" Hermione began, and he silenced her with a glare.

"Don't you _dare _repeat that! It was bad enough that I had to come out in front of our _entire class _because you couldn't wait to speak. That is _not _your story to tell."

Hermione reddened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean.... I didn't expect to be that loud. Sometimes, when I'm upset...." She bit her lip. "Besides, I think you're wrong."

"Which _also _would not be the business of the entire class," Harry argued, as they turned the last corner.

She sighed. "Yes. You're right. I _am _sorry, Harry."

Ron now looked alarmed, as well as confused, but Harry opened the door to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey came bustling out immediately.

"What is the matter now? Oh dear! Fighting again, Mr. Potter?"

In all the fuss, Harry had practically forgotten about his black eye and scraped up nose. Now that he though about it, his ribs hurt on the left, too, where Ron had got a blow in.

"Not actually --" She was already casting, sending a soothing warmth along his side. "Yeah, fixing that would be nice...."

"But it's not why we brought him here," Hermione said firmly. "We have reason to believe that Harry is under the influence of Dark magic."

"Or a love potion."

"I'm not."

The old matron's eyebrows rose. "I see. Professor Jones might be more the person to go to for suspected Dark Arts. Harry, you don't feel that anything is wrong?"

"They just don't like my taste, that's all." Harry cleared his throat. "Or that I broke up with Ginny."

"Was this sudden?"

"Yes!" Ron and Hermione said together, while Harry said "No."

Harry sighed. "Hermione, you were on me at the very beginning of school about being cool to her, and I told you I didn't miss her at all, and it's been sort of a relief that I can hardly see her, because I have no idea what to say."

"You were talking for an hour after lunch last Sunday!" Ron protested.

"About Quidditch! I can talk about Quidditch with _anybody_."

"Harry, you don't talk with Draco at all," Hermione pointed out.

"Where _you _can see! We've been trying to be discreet."

"But then he persuaded you to make it public."

"No. I _asked_. And I would have broken up with her even if he'd said no, because she deserves someone who wants her!"

"You want her," Hermione said patiently. "You've just forgotten."

"I've been trying to get it back, Hermione, I swear! It's just not happening."

Hermione hesitated. She looked like she might actually be considering believing him.

"Hm." Madam Pomfrey looked like she was trying not to smile. "Harry, dear, when did you first notice feelings for Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry started to answer, then caught himself. "Er, sexually, or emotionally?" he asked instead. He could feel his face heating.

"Both might be relevant."

"All right. Well, sexually, on the first of September. Emotionally was probably a couple of weeks later-- It's harder to pin down."

"I see. That is certainly unlikely to be a love potion, if you've been able to conceal such feelings for that long."

"Well, _feelings_, but love.... I've never actually _said _I love him."

"But do you?"

He hesitated only a moment. "Yes."

She nodded briskly. "Another sign that this is merely chaotic youthful romance." She looked at Hermione. "Dark Arts?"

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "I can't see why else he would take an interest in Draco Malfoy. They _hate _each other! Besides, I don't believe he's really gay."

"Hermione...." Harry warned.

"Yes. I understand."

 

In the end, Madam Pomfrey ran a few standard tests on Harry, reported that he did not appear to be under the influence of any common love or control potions, and sent them back to the dormitories. Ron didn't attack Harry again, but he didn't speak either, and Harry, mindful of stares and whispers behind him, set a guard spell about his bed before trying to sleep. 


	7. Displacement

Harry woke up to Neville standing over his bed. Neville hadn't been back yet when Harry went to sleep, which he had considered a good sign. Now, the other man was glaring at him, something which -- in an odd way -- also encouraged him.

"Good morning."

"Get up," Neville snapped.

"Why?"

"Because I won't punch you while you're lying down."

"Oh, that's incentive," Harry grumbled, but he sat up. "May I put my clothes on first? It makes it easier to go to the hospital wing."

"You're taking this awfully casually."

Harry shrugged. "I sort of deserve it, I suppose. You have to let it drop after that, though."

"_Malfoy?_" Neville ground out.

"Stunningly good in bed, and two years of abject terror seem to have done wonders for his disposition."

Letting out his breath in a huff, Neville sank to the end of the bed, where he sat facing Harry. "Ron thinks he has you controlled somehow."

"I don't."

Neville nodded. "Neither does Ginny. She said it made sense, really -- you've never been reluctant to be out after hours before. You were following all the rules because you _wanted _to. You were avoiding her."

"I suppose," Harry admitted. "But I didn't have to notice I was." He sighed. "You stayed out with her, didn't you?"

Despite himself, Neville broke into a smile. "Yeah."

Harry grinned. "Still want to punch me?"

Neville laughed. "I want to be able to tell her I did."

"All right then. Let me get dressed."

"This is stupid," Neville said, as Harry was pulling jeans on. He didn't seem at all self-conscious about watching Harry dress, which Harry appreciated. Dean had ducked out of the room as soon as Harry had got out of bed.

"This is how it's done, right?" Harry answered. "I cheated on her, you want her...."

"How could you do that?" Neville burst out. "She _trusted _you."

"But I couldn't figure out how to step away until I had something else I wanted enough. I never said I missed her, or that I loved her, or anything like that, but she never seemed to get discouraged."

"She said she thought you weren't good at showing your feelings, not that you didn't want her."

"I didn't want to hurt her," Harry said earnestly. "It didn't seem fair. At first I thought I'd get over it, and then I kept hoping someone else would make a better move, and I wouldn't have to figure out how."

"And meanwhile, you wasted her time while you tried out someone else."

Harry looked down. "I didn't think of it like that, but yeah. I really thought that I'd get over him if I just, you know, _did _it a few times."

"But you didn't."

"No. I just got more and more into him, until finally even I could see that it was ridiculous."

Neville sighed. "Look, forget it. I'm going to breakfast."

"You're not going to knock me down?"

"By now, I think _that _would be ridiculous."

"All right." Harry picked up his tie and began to put it on, thinking that if he had put Neville off deliberately, it would have been positively Slytherin. He wondered what it meant when you caused such changes accidentally.

 

"Potter," Pansy hailed him, as he emerged into the common room, "Draco's waiting for you."

Harry looked at her. "Out of affection or terror?"

"Arse!" Pansy snapped. Harry laughed.

"I'm all right either way, you know."

Usually, more than not of the eighth-years skipped breakfast, but today the common room seemed busier than usual. Justin and Ernie were over by the fire, talking quietly, and Dean was just leaving. Ron had already been gone when Harry woke, which he supposed meant that Hermione was up and about too -- not that that was unusual for _her_, just him. Pansy, whom Harry had never previously seen up on a weekday morning, seemed to have been standing guard for Draco; she went inside and he came out, and for a moment, he and Harry looked at each other in awkward silence. Finally, Harry decided this was stupid, but that he didn't know what to say, so he stepped forward and gave him a kiss -- rather chaste, by their usual standards, but their usual standards didn't include an audience. Draco relaxed against him for a few brief, but reassuring, seconds, and then stepped back.

"Good morning to you too!" he said cheerfully.

"And you. I'm sorry my friends are being idiots."

"Are they? You'll need to update me."

"I'll do that," Harry promised. "Let's go to breakfast -- I never got dinner."

"I had some very good chocolate," Draco said, as they crossed the room, "but it's hardly the same."

On the way downstairs, Harry explained that Hermione had decided -- and thus Ron was convinced -- that Draco had Harry enslaved by some Dark curse or complicated love potion.

"I'm not surprised," Draco said, "but why won't she believe you're gay -- or bi, or whatever?"

Glumly, Harry shook his head. "I don't know. It's like she thinks she's upholding my honor, or something, and I wouldn't have expected her to be that homophobic. I don't understand it at all."

When they walked into the Great Hall together, the people who noticed nudged their neighbors, until it seemed like everyone was staring. Everyone but Ginny, anyway -- she hid her face against Neville's chest. Harry thought she might be crying. Next to her, Ron, Hermione, and Ritchie all glared at him. Draco, to his relief, didn't seem to want a kiss in front of this mob. With the merest brush of his hand in farewell, he went to the Slytherin table. Harry walked over to sit at the Gryffindor one.

He was helping himself to some sausages when a vaguely familiar looking girl -- fifth-year, he thought, sat down next to him.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Melissa, if you don't remember. Did you really break up with Ginny Weasley?"

"Yeah," he said, taking some toast.

"Aw. She's terribly pushy. I've always thought so. Are you available, then?"

That got his attention. He looked up at her. She was sort of pretty, or at least would be in a year or two, and she looked alarmingly hopeful.

"No," he said. "I'm with one of the boys. And Ginny is _wonderful_, I think."

"Oh!" She bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

He shrugged. "No one else did either. It was a scene." For some reason, though, it didn't seem to have killed his appetite. He must believe it would all blow over.

 

In fact, the day wasn't too bad. Hermione still obviously believed he was under Draco's control, but this meant she spent all her time in the library researching, and Ron was usually with her. Draco had found a new out-of-the-way room, and they had leisurely, warm sex before lunch, and studied together in the afternoon. Seamus talked to Harry, asking the expected question as to whether he was attracted to any of the other Gryffindors; Harry replied that after sharing a room for so long, they were too much like brothers; and Seamus nodded and said that would reassure Dean.

For all that the entire eighth year knew what was going on -- Harry and Draco a couple, Draco staying in the girls' room -- it still seemed to be a secret from the teachers. At least, no one caught them in a compromising position that morning, or came that night to send the Slytherins back into gender-sorted dormitories.

Harry worried about that changing on Friday, when Ron and Hermione caught him in the evening and said they wanted him to see Professor Slughorn.

"No," he answered flatly.

"Harry, I'm sorry this is difficult for you," Hermione said, laying a warm hand on his arm, "but if we could just get it resolved--"

"It _is _resolved," he said, yanking his arm away. "I'm with Draco, and that I previously fancied a couple of girls does not change that, and that we used to be enemies just makes it better. If you can't bring yourself to believe me, then _go away_."

They did, whispering together across the room, until glumly switching over to homework. It left Harry with a queasy, lost feeling that made him wonder if there had been some way to convince them, and if they would both hate him if he did.

 

The next morning, on the way to Muggle Studies, Hermione went on ahead, and Ron caught Harry's arm. "Talk for a moment?"

Harry glanced over at Draco, who looked back inquiringly.

"I'll catch you up," Harry said. "Save me a seat."

With a cocky grin, Draco nodded. "Good luck," he said archly, and sauntered off.

"How do you stand him?"

"For cheerfully doing what I ask?" Harry asked sarcastically. "Wow, I have no idea."

"That smirk, I mean."

Harry shrugged. "Not how I see it. Now what is it?"

"About seeing Slughorn--"

"I said _no_."

"I know, but Harry, there were two specific things that Hermione wanted him to check for."

"Give it up, will you? I am not imagining I like Draco, and I am not going back to Ginny."

"Mate, you were perfect together! And this thing with Malfoy -- It can't be real."

"It _is _real, and I was awful to her. I can't believe she'd even want me anymore."

Ron's voice dropped. "She's always wanted you, Harry. That's hard to get over."

"But she will," Harry replied. "She'll find someone better. Neville would be wonderful for her. Ritchie would probably be okay."

"What on earth makes you think Neville would be _better _than you?"

"He wants her."

"You could want her!"

"Ron, I wouldn't even stay out later than I was supposed to for her."

"Yeah, but that makes sense, really. You're taking school more seriously, this year. You've said so. Hermione even says so."

"Ron," Harry said patiently, "remember last week when Draco and I didn't show up to Potions?"

"What about it?"

They were nearly in sight of the classroom now. Harry gestured to the bathroom. "I was fucking him in the loo."

"You-- WHAT?"

"Because I couldn't wait, all right? So I'm still perfectly capable of breaking rules for something I _want_."

 

Ron didn't speak to him after that. That should have been a relief, but Harry just felt miserable, even with Draco reaching out to grasp his hand in a moment's comfort. Ron sat by Hermione and whispered to her, and she was distracted enough that she completely missed Professor Diggins saying that automobiles ran on liquefied peat.

On the way to Potions, Harry saw them walking, heads together. Whatever Hermione said did not calm Ron any. He looked at Harry more than at his work, and ten minutes into Potions he splashed himself with gulon bile, and had to leave for the hospital wing. Hermione stayed, but was actually marked down on her potion.

"Let's go for a walk after lunch," Harry whispered to Draco, as Slughorn reviewed common errors that had been made by members of the class. "I need to get outside."

"Excellent. I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall."

When they left the room, however, Harry was stopped on the stairs by Guinevere Planchon, a Hufflepuff prefect. She looked self-conscious, so he waved Draco on.

"What is it?" he asked.

"The headmistress sent me," she said, shuffling her feet nervously. "She wants to see you immediately."

"Now?" Harry said incredulously, but he didn't really need an answer. He knew what "immediately" meant; the unexpected lull was obviously over. "Okay. Thanks."

 

"Please come in, Mr. Potter."

There was an unwelcome steely edge to Professor McGonagall's voice. Harry wasn't surprised when she did not invite him to sit down.

"Yes, Headmistress?" he asked politely. He wondered why that sounded so much odder than "headmaster." Did it to the younger kids? McGonagall sighed, and reseated herself. She folded her hands on the desk and looked across them at him.

"I have recently received some serious allegations concerning you, Mr. Potter. I am afraid I need you to answer some questions. They may become rather personal."

Harry froze. For a moment, he could think of nothing but Lupin wanking, speaking quite reasonably while his hand moved in tight pulls. "Ask," he muttered. Her eyes narrowed, but he didn't want to explain his reaction. "I'll answer within limits," he added coldly. That made her look less angry and more confused.

"The first one," she said, apparently deciding to ignore the matter, "concerns you as a victim. Both Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are concerned that Mr. Malfoy may have you under some sort of magical influence. A love potion, perhaps. The Imperius curse has been mentioned."

He wariness fell to irritation. That nonsense! He relaxed his stance. "Honestly, Professor, do you think he _could _keep me under Imperius? And it's not a love potion. I know they don't take six weeks to work. That's the first sign of a love potion -- that the change is quick."

"He kept Madam Rosmerta under Imperius for weeks."

"_Voldemort _couldn't keep _me _under Imperius for _minutes_."

She nodded. "Much my own thoughts. I gather, then, you admit to an attraction towards Mr Malfoy, but claim that this developed over an extended period of time?"

"Yes."

"However, you kept your friends unaware of this?"

"Mostly, yeah. I didn't expect it to go anywhere, at first. Then we started, well, talking...." He shrugged. "Finally, I broke up with Ginny, and then I told them. That's why Ron's in a state. He wants to make it not real."

"I see. For completeness, I would like to review the matter further with Professor Slughorn, but my instinct is to believe you." She cleared her throat. "That brings us to the second allegation. Mr. Weasley claims that you boasted about having sodomized Mr. Malfoy in fourth floor boys' necessary?"

Harry gaped. "I--" he tried. The rest of it wouldn't come out. "He _told _you that?"

The headmistress sighed, the fingers of one hand rubbing her temple. "Harry...."

"Look, it was--" Harry took a deep breath. "Sorry," he said awkwardly. "No one saw. And I didn't exactly 'boast' about it; I was just trying to convince him that he didn't really want me with Ginny."

"None of those, Mr. Potter, excuse such barbaric behavior. In fact, the only things that could would be the Imperius curse or one of the more lust-centered love potions."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on breathing. He had the terrifying feeling she would kick him out of school. Making a decision, he opened his eyes. "I understand," he said. "But I really wasn't under the influence of anything more than a lesson's worth of teasing."

"In that case, you must realize that I _cannot _permit you to stay here."

"I--" His heart froze. "You're throwing me out of school?"

She pursed her lips. "That would be the usual consequence. However, your class are older than usual students, and with the distasteful standards of behavior we have recently endured, many of you have unavoidably become accustomed to ignoring social mores." She sighed. He suddenly noticed how weary she looked. "I propose this. You may attend lessons, but may not be at the school before lunch or after dinner on weekdays, before breakfast or after lunch on Saturdays, or at any time on Sundays, except by special appointment, initiated by myself or one of your professors. Obviously, if you repeat the infraction -- in the broadest sense -- you will not be allowed back under any circumstances."

Harry took a deep breath. That wouldn't be so bad. He would have to schedule library research more carefully, but other than that, it might actually be fun. He could have his own room again, for one thing. "Okay," he said. "Thank you. You can't make it worse for Draco, though."

"Mr. Malfoy started out the year on probation."

"Right, but because you were afraid he'd use Dark magic, or bully people. Not because he can't turn me down when I push."

She studied him for a minute. "Explain 'push,'" she commanded coldly.

"It's not like-- I mean, he was willing as far as, you know, the sex went, but he didn't want to do it _there_. I wasn't waiting, though."

"Did you _force _him?"

Harry thought of Draco's delicate wrists, squeezed between his grip and the damp wall. "Not much," he said. At McGonagall's thunderous expression, he added quickly: "He could have stopped me. Easily."

McGonagall's entire face was tight, by now. "Now," she said, "we have an example of scheduled appointments. Professor Slughorn is unavailable this afternoon, so I would like you to return, coming directly to my office and speaking to no one, at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. If Mr. Malfoy feels he was coerced, I will turn you over to the appropriate authorities and will have very little sympathy for you. If he does not, we will test more completely for love potions, because inventing such a statement is hardly the product of a sane mind."

"Look, I'm not saying I raped him," Harry protested. "He likes it when I push a little, that's all. We're together, but we're still _us_."

"We will discuss this _tomorrow_, Mr. Potter. For now, I would like you to Floo to the Three Broomsticks. I will send a House Elf with your effects. If you are confident that I will be satisfied by Mr. Malfoy's account, you may begin looking for a room for let. If not, I would remind you that travel to faraway lands can broaden the intellect and mature the impetuous spirit."

 

A few minutes later, Harry found himself in the taproom of the Three Broomsticks, feeling vaguely like he'd been run over by a hippogriff.

"Just a pint?" Rosmerta asked, "or will you be wanting lunch as well?"

"Just beer, please," Harry answered. Rosmerta had learned his favorite when he did, in August, and lost no time about bringing him a pint of the local brown ale.

"Anything else?"

"Well, I need a room," he said. "For a few nights, at least."

"A room?" she asked, surprised. "Have you left school?"

Looking up at her was awkward, but Harry wasn't sure of the etiquette of inviting her to sit. "Not really," he said, suggesting the invitation with a hand wave. To his relief she took the hint. "I'll still be going to lessons. Professor McGonagall decided it would be better if I wasn't living there, though. She'll be sending my things by House Elf, I think."

Rosmerta gave him a mock severe look. "Why Harry! Have you been trouble?"

"A bit," he agreed, cheered by her humor. "Eighteen-year-old trouble is apparently more of a problem than fifteen-year-old trouble."

"Hm," she said. "With the young ones about, perhaps it is. You could stay here," she suggested.

"For a few nights, yeah. Maybe even a couple of weeks. But long term, I might like a kitchen and such." _And privacy_, he thought. _And -- god! -- you wouldn't want Draco here. _He had been planning to confess the whole problem, but now that he remembered what Draco had done to Madam Rosmerta, it seemed inadvisable.

"Hm. Well, you won't find flats for rent in Hogsmeade," she said, "but I think Madam Cauldwell's boarders may have use of a second kitchen." Tapping a long fingernail on the table, she studied him. "I can think of three places that might do," she said finally. "Madam Cauldwell's, Madam McDougal's, and Master LaFontaine's -- don't worry, he has his daughters in to clean. Would you like directions?"

 

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon looking at places Rosmerta had suggested. He couldn't imagine living in any of them. Cauldwell made a point of saying that he could not bring 'lady friends' on the premises, and Harry doubted she'd take better to a male 'friend' once she realized he deserved the quotation marks. McDougal wasn't willing to even consider a male boarder -- it would harm the reputation of her two young ladies, she said. LaFontaine was a retired Auror, who appeared to run his house as one might a military regiment, and said he would tolerate no shady characters, illegitimate use of charms, curses of any sort, staying out past ten, or strong drink, but he was confident Harry Potter, as a fine, upstanding young man, would be a credit to the place. Harry made an excuse about "not quite what I was looking for" and fled.

He returned to the pub and had dinner. In the public room, he lingered over a beer, hoping that Hagrid or Filius would come in looking for him, or Ron would send him an owl apologizing, or Draco one asking what he should do. He couldn't send an owl himself -- McGonagall had kept Godwin, and told Harry he could have him in the morning. He worried a little about what Draco would say about their encounter. If he didn't care that much about Harry, he could easily get out of trouble by saying he hadn't been willing, and then it sounded as if McGonagall would turn him in for rape. Harry wouldn't leave, though. Draco _hadn't _been unwilling -- not like that -- and he wasn't going to act guilty.

That night, though, he dreamed about the battle, and Draco desperately claiming allegiance to the enemy, even after Harry had saved his life. Draco did what was expedient.

 

Sunday dawned cold, and the mist was slow to lift, but Harry was sweating with nerves by the time he had flown from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts and walked up to the great doors of the castle. He continued straight to the headmistress's office, as he had been instructed. Seamus and someone else called out to him on the stairs, but neither was close. He waved and kept moving, wondering if even his bed was gone from the Gryffindor men's dormitory.

When Professor McGonagall showed him in, Professor Slughorn was already in the office. He frowned a little at Harry as he entered.

"Got yourself into a spot of trouble, Harry?"

Harry couldn't decide if the almost jovial question was meant to sound familiarly concerned or belittling. He shrugged. "Why should this year be any different?" he retorted. Intended as a joke, the words came out with a bitter edge that he hadn't planned.

"Hmph," Slughorn responded neutrally, while McGonagall glanced heavenward. There was a knock on the door.

"Hello?" Draco asked, easing it open. Seeing Harry, he turned pink. "Harry! Everyone thinks you've left! People keep asking me, and they won't believe I don't--" He had hurried a few steps forward, but then stopped, his eyes darting between the two professors.

"I kept his owl overnight," Professor McGonagall said. "I have no doubt he would have contacted you otherwise."

Draco tensed. "He _is _in trouble, then."

"Ron and I were arguing--"

"Enough, Mr. Potter." McGonagall turned to Draco. "There is the matter of a certain sexual escapade in the fourth floor boys' cloakroom."

Draco's face went white. "Oh."

"From Mr. Potter's account, he was the aggressor. Would you agree with that?"

Harry bit his lip. Phrased that way, of course Draco would say yes. She couldn't think that meant--

"Yes." Draco managed an uncertain smile. "He usually is."

"Were you, however, willing?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of _course _I was willing! We'd both have ended up in the hospital wing if I wasn't. Besides, can you honestly imagine Harry going on if I wasn't?"

McGonagall's shoulders relaxed down. "In speaking to him, I was uncertain what to believe. He said he had 'pushed.' On the other hand, he was arguing that your punishment should be less severe -- or at least no more severe -- than his."

Sighing, Draco rolled his eyes, and then shot Harry a look that he couldn't place. "Well, he did push, but not more than I like. And we discussed the balance of that, early on, so he wasn't just guessing."

"Has this been going on for some time then?"

"Since school started," Harry said, just as Draco said, "just that week." Slughorn snorted. McGonagall looked over her glasses at Harry.

"Is what you said true, Mr. Potter?"

"Well, it depends on what you mean by 'this,'" Harry explained.

"I see. And you meant?"

"Me and Draco. Doing, um, anything."

"And he meant?"

"Specifically," Draco said, "sodomy."

Slughorn, apparently taken by surprise, choked and then coughed. McGonagall looked displeased. "Very well. There is also an accusation that you have taken Mr. Potter either magically or alchemically in thrall."

Draco looked over at Harry and winked. "No," he said. "I'm quite clear on who's wearing the trousers, here."

It was Harry's turn to cough. "Er, right," he said. "Except for when I'm not."

"Especially when you're not, I'd say," Draco said airily.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

Draco looked almost bored. "What? If you're throwing us out, your opinion hardly matters anymore."

"I am _not _sending you down, Mr. Malfoy." She cleared her throat. "Not unless you further offend me, or these other accusations prove to have merit."

"Oh." Draco stepped back. "Er, my apologies, then, Professor."

"See that it does not happen again. Harry, would you care to explain the details of your punishment to Mr. Malfoy? It will demonstrate that you understand them."

Harry nodded. "Um, we can come here for lessons, and for some of the daytime, but we can't live in the castle, or stay on the grounds. We're allowed here from lunch to dinner on weekdays, and breakfast to lunch on Saturdays, and for other times only if a professor schedules an appointment."

"A practice I will largely discourage," McGonagall said. "Now -- shall I send your things on to the Three Broomsticks?"

Draco's eyes widened. "I can't go there!"

From McGonagall's satisfied smile, Harry was sure she had realized that before she made the suggestion. "The Hogshead, then?" she asked, even more smugly.

"No." Draco looked beseechingly at Slughorn. "Might you keep my things for a few days, sir? While I search for suitable lodging?"

"Except for your broom," Harry amended, finally deciding there was no harm in moving into reach. He settled a hand on Draco's back. It was something he might have done with Ron, except with Ron, that touch would not have sent unsettling warmth up through his arm. "You'll need that for the search, believe me!"

"I think it is a reasonable request, Horace," McGonagall decreed. "Now, if you might perform the tests?"

"Ah, of course!" Slughorn exclaimed. He waddled forward, pulling a vial from his belt pouch. "Now, as I understand it, Madam Pomfrey has done the simplest tests already, but there are three more that require elements from both parties. I do not expect to find anything, of course -- Harry is simply not exhibiting the typical symptoms -- but for completeness...."

 

The tests went quickly, an elf brought Draco's broom, and Professor Slughorn escorted Harry and Draco to the far side of the outer courtyard.

"So," Draco said, as they flew to Hogsmeade. "Lunch? I didn't have breakfast."

"Yeah." Harry sighed and swooped lower. "I didn't either; I can never eat when I'm nervous. I don't know where to go, though. We can't go to the Three Broomsticks, and I wouldn't eat anything at the Hogshead, if they even have food. The tea room?"

"Of course not! What about the Country Table?"

"The what?"

"The Cou-- It's a restaurant. A few streets up the hill from most of the shops, but worth the walk. They specialize in game meats, but it's all very well prepared."

"Ah. I didn't know there were actual restaurants in Hogsmeade."

"Well, one. There aren't enough people in the village to support it, of course, but some always Floo in from other places."

Draco led the way, and they landed in front of a two-story building. It was built of dark grey stones, but had three windows to the side of the door, which even in diffuse daylight showed a hint of golden light spilling behind the wavy glass of the many small panes in each. From the floor above, the sounds of a fiddle drifted down.

Harry opened the door. The restaurant -- if the front room was all of it -- was small, but they weren't the only patrons. Two of the five tables were occupied, even though it wasn't quite noon. Delicious scents hung in the air. A tall man, a scotch thistle pinned to his tartan wizard's cap, hurried over. "Table for two, Mr.--"

He stopped suddenly. Harry had the impression that he had noticed Draco right away, but had only just registered Harry's identity.

"Yes, please," Draco said, unperturbed. "And bring a pot of tea with the menus. We've had a dreadful morning."

The tea came piping hot, with a little pot of honey, a small jug of milk, and a plate of lemon slices. The menus were written on slates. The server set them on the table, one in front of each of them as if they were plates, bowed slightly, and silently departed. Harry chose grouse stew, because he'd never tried grouse before, and Draco decided -- rather to Harry's surprise -- on venison sausage with sage and stewed apples. After that, he suggested they order the cheese platter -- "because nothing is so comforting as cheese" -- and Harry, once it was settled that he wouldn't eat anything with visible mold, agreed. "More for me," Draco said cheerfully, as the server returned with warm, crusty bread and a large mound of butter. Halfway through his second slice, Harry started feeling like he could think again.

"This is rather a shock," Draco volunteered, just then. "Admittedly, not as bad as it might have been. My imagination has been running wild since Longbottom declared that all your things were gone, and your bed along with them. Weasley accused me of foul play, of course, but Granger had the sense to see I had no motive. She thought you were probably in St. Mungo's, with whatever horrible thing I had done to capture your affections discovered, and that I would be gone by morning. That was last night. I didn't dare go to breakfast, but Pansy told me there was some talk that you had been sent away."

"Which you'd think Ron would have thought of," Harry contributed. "He was the one who told McGonagall."

"Had you told him?" Draco asked pointedly. "You know, not getting caught is a good first step, but it doesn't help if you then go around announcing what you did."

"It was...." Harry ducked his head apologetically. "He was being such a prat about me breaking up with his little sister, and I was trying to convince him that he didn't _want _me with his little sister. I never thought he'd tell. I'm sorry."

Draco sighed. "If it wasn't for Madam Rosmerta, it might even be good," he said. "But with that.... I don't know what to do. Where are you staying?"

"The Three Broomsticks," Harry admitted. "I looked at some of the boarding houses yesterday, but they're all horrible. I think I'd get thrown out of any of them if I showed up with you."

"Me specifically? Or a man?"

"Either."

"Grand," Draco said glumly. "I wonder if I could arrange to use the Floo here, if I need to stay in England."

Harry reached a hand across the table, clasping Draco's. He heard a stutter in the conversation at the closest table, but pretended not to notice. "I'm not staying anywhere I can't have you over."

Draco smiled. "I rather hate camping," he joked.

They were still sitting that way when the server returned with their salads. To his credit, he appeared to find their clasped hands worthy of only a glance. "Is there any thing else?" he asked pleasantly, and Harry on impulse, turned toward him.

"This isn't actually your job," he said, "but do you live in Hogsmeade?"

"Oh, I'm a newcomer," the server said cheerfully. "I've only lived here for ten years."

Harry grinned. "Well, that should do. The thing is, we're both looking for places to live. And I've been to a few boarding houses that Madam Rosmerta recommended, but I think they'd all give me the boot if I brought home a girl, never mind him." Harry gave Draco's hand a squeeze. "Any ideas?"

The server looked amused. "Oh, you don't want a boarding house! They all worry about your reputation -- they're expected to!"

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed. "Well, that explains it. I'd prefer my own flat, but Rosmerta said they're weren't any."

"It's rare, at least," the server allowed. "Most come with shops. Would you consider a house?"

Harry met Draco's eyes across the table. He wouldn't want to spend that much money himself, but perhaps if they shared...? He could swear that Draco was thinking the same thing.

"Are there houses available?" Draco asked, in his most upper-class drawl.

"Not officially," the server confided, bending closer. "_However_, you might want to pay your respects to Philemon Prout. He's a regular here. For a few weeks, he's been saying how he might try to move closer to his ailing sister, temporarily." The server shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if he'd also like to be in London for the season, or longer. At any rate, he might be interested in leasing his house for a few months, or even the year."

"Will he object to us?" Harry asked bluntly.

The server lifted an eyebrow. "Old Philemon? Oh no. He's an eccentric old, er, 'confirmed bachelor' himself, too much of a Prout to object to a Malfoy, and too progressive to object to you, Mr. Potter."

 

"Prout?" Harry asked, as they walked up the hill. Lunch had been tasty, but also soothing -- the warm stew and quiet, low-ceilinged room had him feeling calmer. Of course, the prospect of a good place to live didn't hurt.

"Purebloods, old money," Draco explained, as they approached through an open gate in a virtual wall of greenery. "I don't know them; they have some sort of feud with the Goyles, so Mother doesn't invite them to any of our affairs, as the Goyles are always invited. I may have seen Philemon Prout at one of the Cartwright weddings; Gregory told me they were there.

"Oh. Is he even going to talk to us, then?"

"I don't see why he shouldn't. It's not a feud between the Prouts and the Malfoys; we're just in different social circles."

"There's more than one rich pureblood social circle?"

"Of course. I expect Susan Bones would know him."

Through the hedge, they paused and looked up. A winding drive disappeared behind a stand of rhododendrons. Just above those, they could see the conical roof of a tower.

"I think this might be more of a house than we can afford," Harry said.

"Oh, don't be intimidated. If the slope continues, the house can't be more than two stories. That's probably just one of those little corner towers."

"Still, what must something like that cost?"

Sighing, Draco swung a leg over his broom. "Just let me handle the negotiations. Come on. Let's fly."

They went up slowly, which Harry supposed was polite. During the war, a lot of witches and wizards had developed bad feelings about speedily approaching broomsticks. Past the curve was a long sweep of turf, and at the top of the drive, a timbered house with a slate roof. As Draco had predicted, it was two stories, with the tower at one corner. It wasn't a mansion, but it wasn't small, either.

They landed near a marble bench and birdbath, and walked the rest of the way to the door. It opened before they could reach it. A man stood there, arms crossed in a way that Harry recognized as able to conceal a held wand. His robes were a purple so dark that it was almost sedate, with ornate filigree silver buttons at the cuffs and neck.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked dryly.

Malfoy bowed casually. (Harry wouldn't have thought that was possible, but there was no other way to describe it.) "Good afternoon," he said. "I'm Draco Malfoy, and this is my companion, Harry Potter. Might you be Philemon Prout?"

The man examined them shrewdly. He was old enough to be grey-haired, but only just -- his stance had an easy balance, and his eyes were sharp. "An odd pair," he said. "I do hope you haven't started a cult?"

Harry burst out laughing.

"Actually," Draco said, "we were just having lunch at the Country Table, and heard that you might be looking for caretakers. As we're looking for lodging for the rest of the school year, I thought we might discuss some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement."

The man's eyebrows rose. After a moment, he directed his attention to Harry. "Is this so? You are -- with young Malfoy -- looking for a place to stay?"

"Er, yeah," Harry said quickly. "Well, we don't have to be together, as long as we can visit each other, but the boarding houses are all awful."

Stepping back, the man bowed to them, neither casually nor too deeply. "I confess myself intrigued. Please come in."

They walked through a shadowed front hall with dark paneling, and from there into a light, airy room with two slightly shabby well-stuffed chairs and an equally worn settee, a large potted fern, and a spaniel snoring on a sunny patch of carpet. Although its eyes stayed shut, its tail thumped as if aware of its master's arrival. Altogether, the room had an air of genteel decline -- like number 12, Grimmauld Place, Harry thought suddenly, but without the shroud of malice. Everything here felt well-loved.

Philemon sat in the chair nearest the dog, and motioned them to sit. In the sunlight, Harry could now see that his robes were ornamented in a different, flatter weave of the same thread, creating glossy purple swirls on the softer background. He crossed one knee over the other, and watched as they settled on the settee. "So," he said, "in my day, Hogwarts students stayed at Hogwarts."

Harry and Draco glanced at each other. "We got thrown out," Harry admitted. Draco flicked a warning finger into his thigh.

"Not out of lessons," he explained. "However, Professor McGonagall does not want us living in the castle." He shrugged elegantly. "Nothing of import -- merely a sexual indiscretion."

The man's eyebrows rose. "Both of you?"

Draco met Harry's glance in silent permission to talk. "Er, with each other," said Harry. "Thus the problem with, um, boarding houses and such," he said nervously. "None of them seemed likely to take well to me bringing him back for the night."

"And you expect me to believe this?"

"I can't see why I'd lie about it!"

"For favor, perhaps," the man answered. "You must have heard that my tastes are similarly ..." He lifted a shoulder. "Shall we say, 'self-indulgent?'"

Harry grinned. "I haven't heard that one before. Well, yes. That was why the man at the Country Table thought of you, I think. We were holding hands, and we asked him if he knew of places--"

"And he said you had been mulling over a short-term move to London," Draco finished smoothly. "And of course you wouldn't want to leave such a lovely residence unattended--"

"And I will not be able to afford a reasonable townhouse if I don't have some money coming in for this," the man said firmly.

Draco was put off only for a moment. "Yes, I understand," he said. "A certain style must be maintained. However, the reputation of my family for money is somewhat behind the times. Had you a figure in mind?"

 

Harry looked out the window at the dying garden, while Draco and Philemon negotiated. They both seemed to enjoy it, and were welcome to the contest. Eventually the spaniel woke and crossed over to sit on his feet; he stroked it absently while continuing to listen. Draco didn't manage to get them paid for staying in the house, but the rent he negotiated was amazingly low, especially as Philemon planned to leave most of his furniture. It turned out the man already had his eye on a place in London, and expected he could be out within a few days. Harry glanced over the contract enough to make sure it laid out the terms he had heard discussed, and then signed his name under Draco's.

They had a place to live.


	8. Acceptance and Denial

Draco went home to Wiltshire for the night, and Harry returned to the Three Broomsticks. On Monday, he considered going to Hogwarts for lunch, but decided it would be too awkward to answer everyone's questions at once. Instead, he went just afterwards, when the younger students were mostly in lessons, and went to the eighth-years' common room.

"Harry!" Hermione cried out, as he entered the room, and Ron came to his feet instantly, dumping a book on the floor. Hermione ran across the room, Ron a step behind her, and both of them embraced him.

"Where have you been?" Hermione asked. "We've been so worried."

"We thought you might be in St. Mungo's," Ron said, "but we didn't want to ask around, you know?"

"Malfoy's gone too," Hermione said.

Harry looked around the room. The only other people present were Pansy, Neville, and Susan. "Yeah," he said. "We got a place together."

For a moment, they both stared at him in shocked silence.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.

Ron frowned. "You're leaving school?"

Smoldering resentment sparked into anger. "Did you think McGonagall would let me _stay_, after what you told her?"

"What?" Hermione looked between them.

Ron went white, making all his freckles stand out like paint. "She -- what?"

Hermione turned on him. "What did you tell her, Ron?"

"You, um, don't want to know," Ron said. "I didn't --" His hands flailed at the air as he looked back at Harry. "I mean, it so obviously made no sense that I thought it would convince her that he must be doing something to you. I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

Hermione's hands moved to her hips. "Ron Weasley! _What _did you tell her?"

Harry looked around again. "Let's go for a walk," he said.

Neville stood. "Harry, are you really--"

"She compromised. I can continue with my lessons, I just can't live here."

"And Draco?" Pansy asked sharply.

"The same. He'll be in later." Harry started for the door. "Come on."

 

Harry thought he could practically see words writhing behind Hermione's tightly closed lips as they hurried through the corridors. The moment they were out of earshot of the castle, they burst out.

"I want to know what happened. Harry, what are you being punished for?"

"I..." Ron stammered. "Look, it was, well... a sex thing...."

"I buggered Draco in the loo when we should have been in Potions," Harry said succinctly.

Hermione stopped in her tracks. She stared. "Why, yes, I can see what Ron means."

"_What?_ Hermione, he'd spent all of Muggle Studies getting me worked up."

"He was a bit out of line, but--"

"With sex magic. Remote stimulation."

"Wow!" Ron suddenly looked intrigued. "You didn't mention that. Would it work for, um, a --"

"So he _is _using magic on you!" Hermione said triumphantly.

"Hermione, if I didn't want him, I would have _thrashed _him for that, not fucked him."

She shook her head. "Not necessarily. He could be magically inducing lust--"

"Do you have any idea how horrible you're being?" Harry burst out. "This isn't easy for me, you know! Could you try to be just a _little _supportive?"

"I'm trying to help!"

"Would it be so awful if I was gay?"

"That's _not _the problem, Harry!"

"Then why are you so bent on denying it? I want to get this over with, and you keep acting like it's some sort of disaster that you can _save _me from."

For a moment they stared at each other, both breathing hard.

"Harry," she said gently. "When this first started -- I was there when it first started, remember? I asked you if you might be attracted to men, and _then_, you seemed certain that you weren't. I don't think it can be natural for you to change your mind so completely. Something is keeping you from thinking normally."

He stared at her for a moment, remembering how this had started. He had dreamed about Lupin, who had just died.... "You did _not _ask me that."

"I _did_. And if you've forgotten, that's another sign that something is wrong." She took a deep breath. "You said you couldn't remember anything that might be--"

"I said I wasn't attracted to _Remus_. I wasn't. I'm _not_. That isn't the same!"

"You--" She looked taken aback, but didn't immediately tell him he was wrong.

"The subject of _men _never came up! The first time I dreamed of going down on Sirius, I had to toss off to get back to sleep, and the next day I was telling a complete stranger I'd have done him in a heartbeat."

"I was certain I'd asked...." She bit her lip. "Perhaps...."

"It was _him _you were asking about. Because you thought that if I'd repressed that, there'd be less reason to once he was dead."

Slowly, she nodded. "I do remember thinking that." She swallowed. "But Harry.... Look, I'm sorry if I got that wrong -- terribly sorry -- but even if you are, why _Malfoy_?"

He didn't know if he could explain. "At first, because it was very good sex. But then ... he takes me seriously? He's the only other person I've actually talked to about this."

"What about that 'complete stranger?'"

"Oh. Except for that." Nervously, Harry laughed. "I was so disturbed by that one -- it wasn't bad in the dream, but I was so turned on by it that I ended up going to a gay counseling center in London."

Ron, who had been watching silently, choked. "A gay counseling center?"

"Well, I meant it to be 'I think I'm bisexual, what do I do?' but it ended up being mostly about my relationships to the adults in my life and how fucked up they all were, and never being safe."

"Which wasn't what you wanted to talk about," Hermione said.

"Well, it wasn't what I'd _planned _to talk about, but it was useful. I probably would have gone back, but it's hard to edit magic out of everything. Sirius, especially, sounds like a complete disaster."

"Sirius _was _a disaster."

"But a sexy one," Harry answered, grinning. He bit his lip. "But with him, it isn't so much magic as the war. I couldn't really explain how he died. I called it a brawl, but it was really a battle, and I didn't even try to say that it was right in front of me, or saving me, and both of those matter."

She sighed. "Harry, I think I have only little bits of this, and I've put them together wrong. Could we start over?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "I don't even know what you're talking about. Why would you have dreams like that about Sirius?"

Harry pulled his fingers through his hair. "Because it _happened_. We'd all eaten something Fr-- Fred and George left around, and it completely messed with our minds, and Sirius and I had sex, and Lupin got off on it, but blocked my memory of it afterwards. When he died, it came back in dreams, and since I'd never heard of memory blocks and didn't know what to do, for a while, I thought it was just dreams."

"But the dreams turned you on?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"The ones about Sirius, yes."

"Oh." He seemed confused by this. "But how did Malfoy know?"

"He didn't! He came over to thank me for saving his life, and I told him to suck me off."

"Harry!" Hermione yelped.

"Okay, it was a little less rude than that." Harry laughed nervously. "Maybe. A tiny bit. And I did him back."

"That's gross!"

"It was _brilliant_."

"Harry," Hermione said, frowning, "when was this?"

"After eighth-year orientation with McGonagall -- a few hours before the kids got back."

"But when we talked later--"

"You assumed I meant Sirius, and I lost my nerve. I wasn't sure I wanted to break up with Ginny yet, anyway, and you were so--"

"Harry, listen. If you're _really _interested in men, I don't mind that. I just--"

"Really?" he interrupted hopefully. His voice wavered embarrassingly.

"Oh, Harry!" Whatever else she had to say was lost as she leaned forward to throw her arms around him. "Of course!"

"Well, you've been so...." He shook his head, his throat closing.

"I'm sorry! I was so sure you'd said-- Of _course _I don't mind."

"Well, there is Ginny," Ron said stiffly.

Harry looked up at him. "Who will be _much _better off with Neville, okay? Do I have to be family to stay friends with you, or something?"

Ron pushed a hand through his hair. "Well, it would help, wouldn't it? Bill and Charlie aren't in touch with their school friends--"

"Bill and Charlie didn't _win wars _with their school friends!"

Ron laughed slightly. "Yeah, I guess."

"Are you okay with it, then?"

"I don't know. I mean, I'm still pretty angry about how you treated Ginny, and will probably be more so if I think about it. And I'm not sure Mum will let you in the house, once she hears...."

"She hasn't yet?"

"Neither of us want to tell her, I think." Ron shrugged. "Anyway, I'm sure we'll be back to being friends in a few months, and I could maybe just save time and skip the however-long of not speaking to you--"

"I'd like that," Harry said sincerely.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Let me think it over." He stood up. "Actually, I think I'll go in now. You can stay out if you like, Hermione."

"Okay."

He left, and Harry settled an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Friends?" he asked uncertainly.

"Friends," she said. "But Harry, I still think that Malfoy--"

"Hush, _please_."

She hushed.

 

The start of the week went better than Harry had expected. Ron was a bit standoffish, but Hermione made a point of treating him respectfully. Pansy quite unexpectedly smiled at him on Wednesday afternoon, when he came looking for Draco after Defense Against the Dark Arts. Their relationship still hadn't hit the papers, which amazed him, although the wait was also starting to make him uneasy. The biggest hardship, though, was the lack of sex. They didn't dare try anything at school, and Harry couldn't bring Draco back to the Three Broomsticks. Draco said he _could _bring Harry home to Malfoy Manor, but Harry was as unwilling to go there as Draco was to have sex in Sirius's old cave. They settled for a few frantic snogging sessions in a stand of pines that was almost on the way to Hogsmeade, but the weather was too raw for more.

 

On Wednesday night after dinner, Harry was back at the Three Broomsticks studying fire-dousing charms over a beer, when movement made him glance up. He couldn't seem to restrain that since the war, or whenever it had started during the war. It wasn't fear, precisely, and it didn't really take too much of his attention -- he just _needed _to be aware of any change in who was where. Usually, this didn't disrupt his train of thought. However, the sight of Draco walking towards the bar completely derailed it. He closed the book and got to his feet.

"You!" Madam Rosmerta burst out, her normally pleasant voice going shrill. "What do you think you're doing in my pub?"

Draco stopped slightly back from the bar. "I came to apologize," he said. "I know I did at the trial, but I want you to know it wasn't for the press."

She was shaking. Harry, now quite close, wasn't sure if it was with fear or rage.

"You can't come in here," she said. "I'll call the Aurors."

Draco nodded. "All right," he said, with what -- for Draco -- was surprising humility. He turned so that he must have seen Harry standing nearby, but didn't acknowledge him beyond a glance as he walked out. Rosmerta slumped against the bar.

Harry had been trying to guess what Draco's intentions were, but seeing his hostess's distress kept him from worrying at it. He moved to her, going behind the bar without a second thought, and put an arm around her waist.

"Are you all right? You should sit down for a moment."

She looked as if she would sink to the beer-splashed floor, but he half-led, half-pulled her out to the nearest table and lowered her into a chair there, and she bent forward, hiding her face in her hands with a sob. "That ... boy!"

"I'm sure he didn't mean any harm," Harry said quickly. "Apologizing, I mean. He's been trying hard this year."

"Finding new allies?" the woman said tightly. "I'm sure he has. He won't go very far with his old ones, will he?"

That hurt, a little. Harry still wasn't entirely sure he wasn't just some plot of Draco's, courted for his social advancement. Except if that was all of it, he should have given it up in McGonagall's office. And shouldn't he be worried about the press, by now? Unless he wanted the publicity. "I'm sure that's part of it," he said, "but I saw some of him last year, and he was miserable with Voldemort in power. And he'd been terrified the year before -- his parents weren't much more than hostages by then, I think."

"He shouldn't even _know _such a curse!"

"No, he shouldn't." Harry felt his shoulders tighten. "All of my year does though. And the three before us."

She lifted her face finally. It was streaked with tears, and her eye liner was smudged from them. "Not from school. Not with Albus Dumbledore there."

"We had a disguised Death Eater as a Defense professor, as I'm sure you heard, the year of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and he _did _show us all the Unforgivables. Not with real casting details, you know, but we could figure things out from there. And I expect anyone who went and asked privately...."

"_I _rather expect he learned it from his father," Rosmerta said, and Harry nodded.

"That's not unlikely either." _It's not how I learned the Cruciatus Curse, though._

"What will I do if he comes back here? I have a Foe Glass behind the bar, now, but it didn't--"

"Then he didn't mean to hurt you," Harry said steadily. "The Foe Glass is a good idea though. You should keep it. Would you like a Sneakascope?"

She laughed unsteadily. "I tried that. It doesn't work in a pub; it went off all the time."

He chuckled. "Yeah. I guess it would. Look, I'll tell Draco to leave you alone, okay? He listens to me, these days."

She twitched, horrified. "Draco?"

Shrugging, he shifted back. "I'm easier to make up with than you are, I think. Or ... well, it's easier for me to forgive him, I guess, because I beat him more than once, so I'm not afraid of what he'll do. I know I can take him."

She closed her eyes. "I used to think of myself as so strong--"

"You are," Harry said reassuringly. He and Draco had actually discussed this, fortunately, over the last few days. "But a lot of your job is providing people with things they want. You're good at helping people, and at, you know, _listening_, and at being nice. That makes you more susceptible to that particular curse."

She wrinkled her nose, but her voice sounded less shaky when she spoke. "And you?"

"I'm defiant -- well, no, I save up my defiance, but I'm about as trusting as a feral cat."

She giggled raggedly. "And the eyes for it." She looked a little bit better, though, as she straightened up. "Watch the bar for me a moment, would you, Harry, love? Don't try to serve anyone; just keep an eye on things. I need to freshen up."

He nodded, and she hurried off to the cloakroom. While she was gone, an owl swooped in from the sheltered post entrance above the door. For just a moment, the abundance of white made Harry's chest clench, but it was a small thing -- just a barn owl. When it landed on the bar stool in front of him, he saw that it had gold markings down the wings and around the disks of the eyes. It gave a soft hoot and held out its leg, and Harry took a roll of parchment from it, and gave it a chunk of dried meat from the covered dish on the bar. As he was reading it, Rosmerta returned, her eyes clear and her makeup unsmudged.

"From Malfoy?" she guessed wryly.

"Mm." Harry nodded. "He says old Philemon wants to see us both before he goes. I suppose I'll run out now."

"Philemon Prout?" she exclaimed, shocked. At Harry's nod, she shook her head. "You shouldn't go over there! He's -- you know -- rather fond of young men, if you understand."

Harry did understand, and felt somewhat insulted. On the other hand, put like that, it also made him uneasy. What if Philemon really wanted to watch him with Draco? What if he left things that would let him spy on them, hidden among all the things he had said he was leaving?

"Yeah," he said, trying to hide his anxiety. "That's sort of how we met. I mean, not that we-- He's far too old for me, of course, but he's been pleasant enough."

The words tumbled out haphazardly, meaning quite a lot without saying much at all, but weighted enough to make Rosmerta turn pink. "Oh," she said. "I ... I didn't mean...."

"It's all right," he assured her, getting to his feet. "I was talking to someone at the Country Table about how unsuitable all the places you sent me were, and he thought you'd probably just meant to protect my reputation, and he sent me up to Philemon, who wants to spend the winter in London." He shrugged. "So it worked out."

He didn't want her to ask how Draco was involved. Desperately, he glanced back at his table. "Um, I should probably pack up...?"

Sighing, she stepped back. "Yes, of course. I lock the doors at one, as you know."

He nodded. "Okay."

"If you're not back by then, I'll call the Aurors."

Rolling his eyes, he nodded. "Fine."

 

Philemon, it turned out, had a reason for summoning him. Draco, looking cheerful, met him at the front door.

"Good evening," he said, and then paused to claim a kiss. It was sudden and strong, and he was smiling as he pulled back. "Come inside. Philemon is set to leave tonight, but I thought you should come here first."

"Why?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Well, as a packing shortcut, he decided to move things he didn't want to bring but didn't want us using into two of the rooms, and then we can go anywhere but there."

"Oh. Okay."

"Except I know you -- I was your enemy for years before we were lovers -- and I _know _how you'll react to 'you can do anything but open that door.'"

Harry felt himself heat. "I think I can manage--"

"Exactly until something odd happens," Draco finished for him. "So I thought you should see what was in the rooms before he closed them."

Harry thought about surveillance charms, and records, and secret passages. "Yeah," he said. "That would help."

The rooms were cluttered with furniture pushed up against furniture. Harry didn't go through everything -- after all, it was in here because it was private -- but he cast volleys of detection charms, and took a closer look at a few things that set them off. Philemon looked more entertained than offended, which help reassure him.

"Okay," Harry said finally. "I think I'm done."

"Right." Draco rolled his eyes. "And I _do _think you should consider private investigation, if you can't bear to be an Auror."

"Well, I'll be on my way, then," Philemon announced. "It's been a delight to meet you both. There are very few maintenance duties, as we agreed. A woman from the village cleans once a week, and she'll water the plants, and a gardener will come by at pruning season. You should keep the birdfeeders full, and check the salt for the deer every week. When we get snow cover, feed the deer each evening. Also check the garden charms, or they'll eat the ornamental plants. If the hay and corn in the shed runs out, call Bartholomew Hartley and have him put a delivery on my tab. Oh, and if the eaves ice up, use a melting charm."

_Deer? _Harry thought, but Draco was nodding as if this was all expected. Philemon pointed to some notes, called the spaniel, and holding the dog awkwardly in his arms, stepped into the Floo.

They were alone.

 

Harry might have been noticeably cheerful the next day. Obnoxiously cheerful, even.

"So," Seamus said, in the common room, "living alone seems to suit you."

"Living with Draco, actually," Harry said blithely. "We rented a house."

Seamus's eyes widened. "Uh. A house. With Malfoy."

"Right. It's brilliant. We signed on it Sunday and moved in last night."

"Ah. So that'd be...." Seamus blew out a breath. "So. Good enough."

"Mm," Pansy said, from a chair by the door. "That appallingly well-shagged demeanor may continue for quite a while."

"I certainly hope so," Draco drawled, which made several of the men turn red, and several of the women giggle.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly, sitting down beside him. Ron was standing beside her. "May we talk?"

"Go ahead."

"Somewhere private, I mean." She bit her lip. "So I won't say anything I shouldn't," she whispered.

"Oh." Harry looked down at his book and closed it. "Fine. But not for very long. I need to get this reading done before class."

It was raining steadily, and Hermione and Ron didn't have a clear idea of where to go, so Harry led them to the abandoned office. "One of the places that I used to meet Draco," he explained. "We don't need it for that, now." He hoisted himself up onto the desk. "What's up?"

"So...." Ron leaned against the desk next to Harry and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "So," he said, "Hermione's been trying to explain something to me -- about you and Sirius -- but I'm not sure I get why that would make you take up with someone you don't like."

"Good," said Harry. "It wouldn't."

"I don't see that a relationship with Malfoy could possibly be healthy," Hermione argued. "You're probably drawn to people you don't respect, because your initial experience was abusive, and remembering it has given you a negative view of sexual expression."

Harry glared. "What on earth makes you think I don't respect him?"

"That he's Malfoy?" Ron suggested.

"You never have before, Harry," Hermione answered, more logically.

"Yeah, but...." Harry bit his lip. "We didn't _talk _before. Besides, he was more of an idiot before."

"I seriously doubt he has suddenly become a brave, upstanding, considerate man."

"He's ... we don't have the same strengths. I mean, he's not brave at all." Harry shrugged. "Except sometimes when he is."

"Such as?"

Harry smirked. "Waiting for me in the changing room showers at the pitch, naked and wandless and facing away from the door. I wouldn't risk that for anyone."

Ron was hiding his face behind one spread hand. Hermione frowned. "It would be riskier for you, I think."

"Maybe, but still." Harry shrugged. "And he seems to have given up on the blood purity thing, except for feeling that he should have two children. And we've talked a lot, about ... about getting what you want. And in his case he was miserable, and in mine, I'm glad, but neither of us knows what to do next."

"I -- Well, that's probably a basis for connection, but I still don't see that it's enough."

"Well it is. That and all sorts of other things -- but you wouldn't understand."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you don't want to."

She sighed. "Look, I _can _understand why you'd feel lost. In fact, that may be as much of an issue for you as the rape. But taking up with an enemy isn't a solution."

"War's over," Harry retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"But he's still a slimeball," Ron put in, and Harry jumped to his feet.

"Don't talk about my boyfriend like that!"

"What? It's t--"

Hermione hit Ron with a muting hex. "Harry, I think you should see a therapist."

"What?"

"Well, you said the man at the counseling center was helpful."

"Yeah, but--"

"If you went to a magical Mind Healer, you could explain a lot more. I think it would be good for you."

Harry sighed. "And you think that if I fix whatever's messed up in my head that I'll dump Draco and go back to Ginny."

She took a deep breath. "No. I'm not expecting you to ever get back together with Ginny. Not anymore."

"But you do think I'll dump Draco."

"Yes."

"I'll think about it." Harry stood. "Maybe when I get out of school. For now, though, I have work to do." He started for the door, but a few steps away, paused and looked back. "But Draco is not something that is wrong in my life."

 

Friday morning, while Draco was watching bemusedly as Harry cooked breakfast (fried egg and sausage and tomato and toast), an owl arrived from Pansy.

 

_Dearest Draco, _

_You and your paramour made the front cover of Witch Weekly. You're coming out of the Country Table holding hands, and every now and then you kiss. One of the pictures inside is slightly racier, but it's all rather sweet._

_As I love you dearly and am finding Potter increasingly tolerable, I decided to give you advance warning. You may read my copy when you show up -- it takes a scandalized tone, but is surprisingly light on details; I think they must have got the scoop too late to look for students to interview. They don't seem to realize that you are not living at school, for example; it's presented as if you sneaked out for an indiscreet tryst. _

_If you can talk Potter into it, a blasé approach may work best. An interview with a sympathetic periodical might also be beneficial. I'm sure someone will be asking Miss Weasley for her story soon. _

_XO_

_Pansy_

 

There followed several hours of complete chaos. They had barely finished the last of the toast before Professor McGonagall fire-called the house to tell Harry precisely what she had told the Daily Prophet reporter (very little beyond that the couple were no longer living at the school -- they might have been disciplined for kissing in the Great Hall, for all she'd said) and that she had _not _spoken to the reporters from two gay periodicals that Harry had never heard of (and she expected Harry or his paramour to execute that alarming task for her), and that she was redirecting their owls.

After that, came the cloud of owls. They incinerated all the Howlers -- Draco had a good hex for that, which he'd learned during his trial -- and sorted letters from people they knew out into a very small pile, inquiries from publications into one about the same size, and the rest into heaps for supportive and angry, determined by a glance. Harry had been going to incinerate those, too, but Draco exploded them into confetti and blew that at him, so it stuck in his hair, and after that there was nothing to do but laugh, make a second pot of tea, and sort through the ones that remained.

"You know, there's nothing from Mrs. Weasley here," Harry said, "or your father. Should we have gone through the Howlers?"

Draco shook his head. "With Howlers, there's not enough time. When we talk to the Daily Prophet, we should make it clear we don't accept those, and didn't listen to a word of them. If anyone we know wants to get us a message, he or she will craft it in a civil fashion, compatible with genuine dialog."

Harry blinked. "Right. You can do the talking."

 

"Don't tell me another one got through the blocks!"

It was late afternoon, and they were still at Hogs Hill Cottage. Draco had walked into the kitchen just in time to see the flare of a fire call fading into the normal flames. Harry wasn't surprised that he had reached that conclusion.

"No," he said, "worse. Professor McGonagall connected Andromeda to here."

Draco frowned. "Andromeda? My mother's disowned sister?"

"That one."

"What's bad about that? Was she angry?"

"Oh no! Very sympathetic. But she wants me to come to tea on Sunday, and she wouldn't accept anything but yes. I think McGonagall gave her the impression that I need looking after."

"Well, you do," Draco said reasonably. "Properly, she should have invited me, as well, but she may feel she needs to speak to you privately, first. I'll let it go this time."

"I don't want to go there!" Harry burst out. "And I wish McGonagall would keep her nose out of it!"

Draco looked astonished. "Why ever not?"

"I...." Now that it came to it, Harry felt rather stupid saying. "I don't want to deal with Lupin's son. Not yet. He's just a baby; he won't notice if I'm there or not."

"Ah." Draco's mouth twisted. "Your godson."

"Yeah."

"Will later be better?"

"Maybe. If I can puzzle out what he was thinking."

"And if what he was thinking was that he enjoyed the power?" Draco said caustically. "What then?"

"I ... I don't know."

"Would you hate him?"

"Yes," Harry said fiercely.

"But you hate my father too, do you not?" Draco pointed out. "Yet you deal with me. Quite intimately."

"That's different."

"One would hope so," Draco said dryly. "Nonetheless, my point stands -- it need not be a barrier to affection. He is a baby, yes; he is not his father."

"Well, obviously." Harry sighed. "I suppose I have to go."

 

When Harry arrived for Sunday tea with Andromeda, she was not alone. A familiar blond woman sat by the fire, rocking the old-fashioned cradle. Narcissa Malfoy was smiling as she looked up at him. "Hello, Harry. I hope you don't mind that I stayed. I thought perhaps we should get to know each other better."

She held out her hand, and he took it to shake, but the angle was wrong, and he realized he was intended to kiss it. For a moment, defiance warred with manners, and then the thought that this was Draco's mother won out. He bent stiffly and a bit late to bring his mouth somewhat near the back of her hand, and then straightened.

"What lovely manners," she said, and he couldn't decide if she sincerely appreciated the effort or was making fun of his awkwardness.

There were two chairs to the other side of the cradle. Harry sat in the further one.

"I don't bite," Narcissa said. "Much."

"Sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. I thought Andromeda would prefer to sit near Teddy."

"He's afraid of babies, he means," Andromeda teased, joining them with the tea.

"Well, all the more reason to get used to this one," her sister answered. "And you must call me Narcissa, Harry, if you call my older sister Andromeda."

_The sister you didn't speak to for twenty years? _Harry wanted to say, but he moved instead, feeling trapped. Teddy, at least, was asleep. He was sucking his thumb, and looked frighteningly vulnerable.

"I must say that I was a bit taken aback by the news yesterday, Harry," Andromeda said, pouring tea for everyone. "I was called by people that I didn't even know knew me."

Startled, Harry laughed. "Sorry," he said. "It didn't occur to me that I needed to warn you. I'm amazed it stayed in the school this long, really, the way I've been fighting with my friends."

"Hmph," Andromeda said. "I thought young people today were supposed to be more accepting."

"Oh, it took me until this week to get them to believe that I might be bisexual. They were convinced that Draco was using Dark Arts on me." Harry snorted. "Or a love potion."

Narcissa turned pink. "I really don't think--"

"Well, I know he's not!"

"And how do you know?" Andromeda asked, holding up a hand to Narcissa's indignant twitch. "Hush, Cissy."

Harry frowned at her. "It would have been simpler," he said. "Easier. More obvious."

"Ah." She shrugged. "An unusual diagnostic, but perceptive."

They were on their second cups of tea, and Harry was beginning to hope Teddy Lupin might sleep through this visit too, when the grate in the kitchen flared. Andromeda stood. "Excuse me," she said.

There was an open doorway between the kitchen and this sitting room. Harry couldn't see into the fire from where he sat, but he could see alarm on Andromeda's face as she moved in front of it.

"Good afternoon," came Draco's cultured, almost offensive drawl. "Might you be Andromeda Black?"

Narcissa's hand on the cradle tensed and stopped. Harry held a finger to his lips, and she nodded.

"Andromeda _Tonks_," came the haughty answer.

"That hardly matters," Draco said dismissively.

"Does it not?"

Draco hesitated. "Perhaps I misspoke. The matter in question is this: _I _am Draco Malfoy. Are you my Aunt Andromeda?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Andromeda gave a stiff nod. "Yes. I am."

"I am informed that my mother is visiting you. May I speak with her?"

Andromeda rose. "Yes. Please come through."

"Thank you."

Draco, to Harry's relief, was a perfect gentleman. He kissed Andromeda's hand and told her it was a pleasure to meet her, and then went to his mother and kissed her on the cheek, and then reached over to brush his hand against Harry's while he said he was terribly sorry for intruding. Harry didn't believe that for a minute. The excuse Draco had for visiting -- not being able to find the key to some desk or other -- was patently trivial. Narcissa said she didn't know where it was and would look for it later.

Andromeda did not invite him to stay, but he lingered by his mother, looking down into the cradle. "Astounding, really, that they managed a child so quickly," he said, and Harry saw a wistful look cross Narcissa's face.

"My daughter, as you may recall, was not a pureblood," stated Andromeda, a touch of challenge in her tone, but this got nothing stronger out of Draco than a wry smile.

"True. Philemon said much the same." He moved into a credible imitation of the man's clipped tones. "'Half these fools babbling about blood purity would know to turn to outbreeding if they lost that much vigor in a line of Krups or Granians,'" he quoted, and Harry stifled a laugh.

"So you appreciate my vigor, do you?"

"Oh, quite decidedly," Draco said, not appearing in the least embarrassed. "Perhaps I'll breed you in my stead, since you don't mind women."

"Draco," Narcissa warned.

"My apologies, Mother. I will give you grandchildren of your line, of course."

"Philemon Prout?" Andromeda asked.

"Exactly."

"Where ever did you meet him?"

"Didn't Harry tell you?" Draco said airily. "We're renting his house. We met through someone at the Country Table."

"Oh, I haven't been there in years!" Andromeda exclaimed. "Do they still write the menus out on slates?"

"Yes," Draco said. "And their cheese platter is quite possibly the best in Scotland."

"We should meet there, some evening!" Andromeda said, with a bright smile for Harry.

"I'd quite like that," Narcissa chimed in.

It was unfair, Harry thought. Draco had sailed in and charmed Andromeda, the not-quite family that he couldn't be comfortable with himself. _It must be a pureblood thing. Probably Sirius would have been at home here too, despite the electric lights._

"Next week, perhaps?"

"No," Harry said, without thinking. Everyone looked at him. "I have a, er, Charms project due. And we're still getting settled in." It occurred to him that Andromeda probably wouldn't bring a baby to a restaurant. "The week after maybe?"

"Or perhaps Saturday of next week," Draco suggested. "You'll be done with the project by then, and we can make a reservation."

There was nothing for it but to agree, but Harry resolved to give Draco his opinion of this arrangement as soon as they were home.

 

Of course, it was just after Andromeda excused herself -- to use the loo, Harry guessed -- that the baby woke. He gave one astonished look at the world, and then scrunched his face up and began to wail. Narcissa scooped him right up, and after patting his bottom a few times, put a finger near his mouth. He sucked on it for two seconds and then turned his head away to wail again.

"Hungry, I expect," she said. "One of you boys will have to hold him for a minute. I know where Andy keeps his bottles."

Harry shrank back. He didn't. He couldn't.

With a challenging look in his direction, Draco held out his hands. "Give him to me, Mother."

Narcissa looked surprised. "Have you ever held a baby, darling?"

"No, never. But I daresay it can't be worse than many other things I've endured. He's human, at least, and a relation at that." He sent Harry a cool, challenging look. "My boyfriend's heir, I expect."

Harry glowered back. "Primarily. Yes."

With some fussing, and instructions to support Teddy's head, Narcissa handed the baby over to Draco and sailed into the kitchen. They heard drawers opening.

"I can't believe you're holding a baby."

"I can't believe my mother is in a _kitchen_," Draco returned, as if the idea were obscene. He raised an eyebrow at Harry. "Would you like to hold your godson?"

"No," Harry snapped. "You know how I feel about this."

Draco smiled placidly over the crying baby. "I do." A nasty twist marred the arch of his lips. "So Professor Snape managed to influence you after all, I see."

"Snape? He has nothing to do with this."

"Really?" Draco said, as unruffled as if he were holding a quiet doll. "Who else taught you to hold a father's faults against an innocent child?"

That _hurt. _Harry looked over Teddy to the space behind Draco, where he saw not so much Snape as the Dursleys, and Wormtail, and with the equal weight of their _admiration _for his father, many others.

"Everyone," he whispered.

Draco stood. In his arms, Teddy was still crying, fists and face scrunched and red.

"Here," Draco said, holding out the noisy thing. "Your godson. He doesn't need monsters slain. He needs family. A man -- a _father_, if you will. You."

Harry turned his head. "No. No, I can't. You know I can't."

Draco continued to hold the child out. "Harry."

"I'd drop him!"

"You can hold a Blast-Ended Skrewt!"

That was true, but not reassuring. After all, if he dropped one of those, it wouldn't break, and the baby, for all that it was red with screaming and flailing vigorously at the air with its fists, looked terrifyingly easy to break. Tentatively, Harry took the child, which screamed louder, its eyes screwed shut. It felt awkward in his arms. Finally, stopping to breathe, the baby opened its eyes. Its face did a strange wobbly change, and then, rather than resuming the scream, it reached up and grabbed Harry's glasses.

"Ow!"

"Aa!" the baby said, with obvious delight.

"I-- Help!" Harry cried.

"There, there," Andromeda said, hurrying from the doorway. Harry had no idea when she had returned. She caught at the baby's hand. "Let go, Teddy! Yes, they're pretty, aren't they? So shiny!" With her free hand, she took a spoon from the table and rocked it in the light. "What about this?"

Delighted, Teddy grabbed the spoon and waved it around, whacking Harry on the chin, but at least letting go of his glasses. Harry snorted. "A little brawler already. Are you sure you're Lupin's?"

"Ah, he'd get that from his mother," Andromeda answered airily, as Narcissa returned. Andromeda waited, head cocked to the side, as Narcissa showed Harry how to hold both baby and bottle. When Teddy was sucking eagerly at his meal, she spoke again. "Now, Harry, what is this about you disliking Remus? I thought the two of you got along. You spoke at his funeral."

Harry tried not to let his face twist with distaste, but he felt like he had bitten into a quince. He wished he wasn't still holding the baby; not with those hot spikes of anger making him want to move. "Yes, well .... He had blocked some of my memories."

"Good heavens! Whatever of?"

"It's not important really. It's just ... I still feel angry about it. He didn't even let me argue with him, just made sure I wouldn't remember until he was out of reach."

Andromeda looked uncertain. "To do something so drastic, he must have thought it was important."

"I...." Harry swallowed. "I don't want to talk about it."

She glanced back and forth, at Narcissa's politely constrained interest and Draco's irritation. "Perhaps this isn't the time," she said. "Would you like me to take him, Harry?"

"I...." He looked down. Teddy was steadily working his way through his milk. "I think I'm okay," Harry said bravely.

Draco didn't look as pleased as he would have expected.

 

Almost as soon as they stepped out of the Floo at Hogs Hill Cottage, Harry found out what Draco was annoyed about.

"Why wouldn't you tell Aunt Andromeda what Lupin did to you?"

Harry scowled. "Why would I? It's not her business. And she'll act like it's a big deal, and it's not."

"Are you mad? Of course it is!"

"I hardly think I'm traumatized. I've got an almost normal relationship with you, right?"

"It doesn't come out in your daily life. But you have one person that you can hardly bear to even _see_, which strikes me as an indicator of trauma."

Swallowing, Harry looked away. "I held him."

"After much coaxing and bullying, yes. And you struggled to do it for ten minutes."

"It will get easier, right? It has to." Harry bit his lip. "If I could somehow forgive Remus, it would be easier."

"Whether or not you can forgive him -- or ought to -- I think you might tell my aunt."

"I can't tell her! He can't defend himself! Besides, I can't let Teddy grow up with that!"

"Then he's going to grow up with endless praise of him, and you'll need to sit quietly while he parrots it back."

"I can do that."

"And if he finds out someday? What then?"

"He won't."

"Oh? Are you going to Obliviate Granger? Me? Yourself? No one will ever let it slip somewhere where he might overhear?"

"No." Harry turned and glared at Draco. "Because there is NO REASON to talk about it, understood?"

Color blossomed in Draco's cheeks. "Yes," he said coldly. "I understand."

He went to the toilet, slamming the door behind him, and Harry stared out the window at the park-like land. Five deer -- very small ones, he thought, including two short-horned bucks -- were grazing placidly under the trees. He wondered if Philemon thought of himself as some sort of lord, and he did not think about families. They weren't _that _sort of deer at all.

 

When Draco came back, he was pleasanter. It was a little unnerving, actually, imagining him looking in the bathroom mirror and composing his features into that unnaturally sweet look.

"I'm sorry I pushed," he said, and that actually sounded sincere. Harry consented to meet a soft kiss. "I had an idea," Draco continued. "We're both rather strung up, and I was planning to take a little nap...."

_I cannot_, Harry thought, _lie down. Please don't expect me to cuddle you._

"And, if you wanted to come in and pretend the last two months -- last two years, really -- haven't happened, and you've a fancy to take me by force ... well, I wouldn't mind."

Harry froze. "I think--" he croaked. _That would be a bad idea. You don't know how I'm feeling. _He had to swallow. "You said you'd need a Revocation bond."

"A Revocation," Draco corrected absently. "But that was then. I _trust _you now. We could do it the Muggle way. Let's say I have a pet wyvern who is very protective, and if I call my wyvern, you had better stop right away."

His voice was teasing, and he half-turned away and glanced over his shoulder in a fetching manner. Harry wanted to say no, but he was salivating and had to swallow again. To his horror, he realized he had nodded.

"Ta-ta, then," Draco said, and tripped away to his bedroom.

 

It was more than an hour later that Harry entered Draco's bedroom. He slid in behind him, and eased an arm over his chest. Draco gasped.

"Don't," Harry said. "I appreciate the offer, really, but it would be a very bad idea, right now."

Draco lay very still and tense beneath his touch. "I don't know what you mean," he said neutrally.

"I'm in no mood for playing. Something bad would happen; I'm sure of it." When Draco stayed quiet, Harry was afraid he was trying to continue a role. "Please, Draco," he said. "Trust me."

Draco twitched, and then quickly rolled over.

"But I do. That's the point."

"Then believe me when I say it would be a bad idea."

"I--" Draco stopped. "But why? I'm sure you wouldn't hurt me."

"But I'll do something wrong. I can't think right now, and I'm angry, and I won't mean to hurt you, but I _will_."

Draco brushed a hand down his cheek. "Is that's what you're afraid of with Teddy? That you'll hurt him?"

Harry didn't really want to think about that. "He looks fragile," he said.

"And me?"

Harry grinned. "You're _not_. I'm familiar with how much you can take."

"Hm." Draco bit his lip. "Was that your problem with Ginny? She's too delicate?"

With a snort, Harry rolled back. "Ginny Weasley? She's about as delicate as you are. Less, maybe."

"Oh, good," Draco said. "I'd hate to have our relationship reliant upon your neuroses."

Harry laughed. "No. As I keep telling everyone, I honestly like you."


	9. Teammates

"Are you coming?"

Harry had been lingering in the sunroom, near their brooms at the garden door, waiting for Draco to notice he was ready. Draco looked up from a school book.

"I'll fly in later," he said. "7th year Arithmancy is today's last lesson, so no need to be earlier, and runework is easier when there's no one to distract me."

"Ah." Harry bit his lip. "You're not upset, are you?"

"Of course not. Why would I be?"

Draco sounded genuinely bewildered, which was reassuring. "Just -- we fought, yesterday."

Draco dismissed the matter with a wave. "Just a tiff. Don't fret every time I slam a door!"

"All right," Harry answered with a grin. "I'm off then."

 

He had lunch with some of the Gryffindors -- not Ron or Hermione, though. Ron was still sitting with his sister, but at least he didn't glower. After that, he went up the library to search for references for his Charms essay. Despite a few trips between there and the eighth-year dormitories, he didn't see Draco again until the eighth-years had Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was the last lesson on fire hexes; Draco sat very close to him, but managed to stand up and counter a Conflagration curse when it was his turn. He then came back to his chair and trembled. Harry wrapped an arm around him and shook his head slightly when Hestia started to object. She left them alone.

"Dinner?" Harry said afterwards, but Draco looked down.

"Not here."

"The Country Table?"

Draco smiled slightly. "Tomorrow, that would be lovely. Tonight, I just want to go home."

"All right." Harry leaned forward and kissed him -- a chaste, forehead kiss that no one could reasonably object to. "We don't have much to cook with, though. You may be having omelet for dinner."

"That's fine. Shall we go?"

 

Draco continued to brood while Harry was cooking. Harry considered telling him to chop onions, but thinking better of it, asked him to make toast instead. That distracted him for a little while, and he fortunately knew a charm to direct smoke out the window, so it was ultimately a success.

After dinner, however, he turned to Harry with such a serious look that Harry's jaw clenched in anticipation.

"I'd like to suggest something," he said, unhelpfully.

"So? Go on."

"This matter of what happened among you and Lupin and Sirius. My family has a pensieve. The Aurors took it, of course, but it was recently re--"

"No."

Draco looked at one of the candles burning on the table. "I'd come with you--"

"_Definitely_ no."

"Harry, be reasonable. This happened to you years ago, the memories were interfered with, you've thought and rethought it.... You keep saying you want to understand. You need a fresh look."

"And you?"

"A fresh perspective." Draco scowled. "Also, I don't think you should go through it alone."

"I don't want you watching."

"Then you'll do it if I stay outside?"

"I didn't say that."

"Well, you _implied_\--"

"The answer is no, Draco. _No._"

 

On Tuesday, Draco again flew in to school late again, although he spent a few hours studying with Harry before he had to leave for Arithmancy. It was only when the library started to empty out that Harry realized that the eighth-years' lessons were over, and it was nearly time for dinner. Concerned, he started down to their common room.

On the second-floor landing, a flash of motion to the side caught his eye. He looked. Draco was there, and Hermione, both talking with their hands, intent, and apparently not at odds.

Harry shrank back. They had to be talking about him. There was nothing else that Hermione and Draco would have to discuss. Face burning, he slipped away, flew back to Hogs Hill Cottage, flooed to Edinburgh, and ate fish and chips alone.

 

When he arrived back at the Cottage, Draco, standing by the window, whirled about so fast that he practically fell over.

"Harry!" After two eager steps, he stopped. His eyes narrowed. "Where have you _been_?"

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He hadn't thought that Draco might be anxious about his disappearance. "I saw you with Hermione," he said defensively.

Draco frowned. "Is that a problem? She's a friend of yours, is she not? And I am, as I have said, _gay_."

"There's only one reason you would talk to her. You were comparing notes on me."

"In the first place," Draco said coldly, "that is not true. Granger is an intelligent witch, she is the other eighth-year in the seventh-year Arithmancy class, and we have twice, briefly, discussed theory. Secondly, you were only tangential to tonight's talk. Third -- I have a third point, but I will save it, so as not to distract us. Your turn."

"What were you talking about?"

Draco sighed. "Monday, I tried to speak to Alicia Spinnet about a certain experiment with a Weasley product." He was staring at the mantel, his face blank. "She would not talk to me, or even agree to talk to you on my request. There was quite a bit about callous, hateful boys who don't care if they kill innocent people -- citing, for example, her best friend. Since it was clear I would get nowhere, I needed a Gryffindor. As Granger was the only one I knew you had discussed the matter with, she was the only one I could approach without violating your privacy."

His eyes flashed in the firelight as he looked back at Harry. "Believe me, I would rather have negotiated with Longbottom, or even Patil."

"The purebloods?" Harry shot back, covering his unease. He wasn't sure if he was grateful or angry. "Neville may hate you more than anyone except Ron."

"True, but we are in the same society. If a Gryffindor you hated asked you for help in a socially reasonable manner, you would help him, would you not? Because that is how society functions. Of the people in your year in Gryffindor, Longbottom and Patil are the ones I have ties to in that manner."

Harry rolled his eyes. He couldn't really believe it was like that. "So, what did Hermione say?"

"That she would help." Draco hesitated. "That she was glad I was concerned."

"Great!" Harry huffed.

"I told her that I thought she was _overly _concerned, and there we did talk about you for a few sentences, but I excused myself because I _believed _we had a dinner date."

"Sorry," Harry muttered. "I was upset."

"And now we come to my third point. If you are angry at me, you will kindly _tell _me, rather than disappearing. When you disappear, I start thinking about assassins, and madmen, and latent curses." He swallowed, and took a steadying breath. "It is also entirely rude."

"I--" Harry stopped himself from repeated excuses. "Yes. You're right."

"Now that you have acknowledged that, we are going out, as we had planned."

Harry could feel mediocre fish and chips sitting in his stomach in a greasy ball. "I've already eaten."

"Good," Draco said tartly. "Then you must watch me eat something far better, and perhaps you will remember next time."

 

Very few people could fire-call Hogs Hill Cottage, so when the flames flared on Thursday evening, Harry hurried to the grate. He found Alicia taking Hermione's place. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Good. It's you. What do you think you're doing, getting into a relationship with that swine of a malicious, murderous brat?"

Harry took a breath. "First, he's grown up a lot. I saw him a few times when Voldemort was in power, and I believe he genuinely regretted it while it was going on. Second, even _then_, in sixth year, he couldn't kill someone outright -- I listened to him failing to kill Dumbledore for several minutes. He was frightened for himself and for his family, and doing a piss poor job of trying to be dangerous. Third, he makes me happy."

"You can find some other _boy _to fuck, Harry."

"Yes, I could. But he makes me happy."

She let her breath out in a hard huff. "What's this about some crap of the twins?"

"My fifth year," he said. "They left some biscuits at Grimmauld place in a place their mother would have, but theirs had some experimental stuff of theirs in them. Something that made Remus Lupin do things to me that he blocked my memory of -- but he didn't destroy it, so I remembered when he died. All George seems to recall is that they gave up on this stuff after Fred gave it to you."

"Oh." She shrunk back at his last words. "That."

"I want to know what it did."

She shook her head.

"Alicia, please. It's messing me up. I know you better than I did him. Please?"

Alicia closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she looked to the side, presumably at Hermione. After a moment, she turned back to Harry.

"I'll need you to explain more. Before I even say yes or no, I mean."

"I'd rather not do it over the Floo."

She nodded. "I wouldn't answer questions through this either. Tell you what -- can you come to my flat tomorrow? I'm in London."

"Sure."

"I want Hermione there, too."

"Then I want Draco." He could faintly hear Hermione's shocked squawk in the background. "Because she's been difficult about it, and I don't want you ganging up on me."

"Fine," Alicia said stiffly. "Bring him. Straight after lessons; I'll have take-away for everyone."

"Great." Harry exhaled in relief. "Thanks. I appreciate this."

 

After Transfiguration on Friday, Harry, Draco and Hermione -- Hermione on the back of Harry's broom -- flew to Hogs Hill Cottage.

"Cottage?" Hermione said incredulously, as they entered by the garden door.

Draco shrugged. "That probably means it was a summer place, originally. Wait a moment -- I have some wine to bring."

"This isn't really a social occasion," Harry objected.

"Nonetheless, we are visiting someone's home, and should arrive with something for our hostess."

"And she _is _providing dinner," Hermione said approvingly.

Draco, who had opened a cupboard, looked back over his shoulder. "You'll switch plates with me, won't you, Harry?"

Harry snorted. "If it makes you feel better."

When that was settled, and everyone had recovered from the cold wind, they took the Floo to Alicia's.

 

Harry stumbled clear of the hearth and turned to look for Draco. He stepped out far more gracefully, ash falling from him without leaving a mark. Harry wondered if it was something like a water-repelling charm.

"Good evening, Miss Spinnet," he said, with a bow of a few inches. "Thank you for having us. I brought wine for the house."

"Um, thanks," she said, accepting it gingerly. "Is it poisoned?"

Harry, despite himself, laughed. He did remember the poisoned wine, but it seemed very long ago, now. Draco's face was darkening with blood, and his features had tightened in humiliation. Harry hoped he wouldn't do anything foolish. "I saw him buy it," he volunteered. "But if you're worried, open it up, and I'll drink some."

"I'll do that," she answered. "Come sit down. I have curry from the place on the corner." She gestured to the table, where there was a cluster of take-away containers and a stack of mismatched plates. "Harry, do you want to talk now, or after food?"

Harry looked at the containers. The food smelled wonderful, or what should have been wonderful. He couldn't imagine eating. "I ... Maybe I should just tell you." It shouldn't feel this unsettling. Hermione and Draco both knew the story, and Alicia had no connection to Lupin or Sirius.

"All right. Let me just pour the wine."

It turned out that Alicia had two wineglasses -- she and Hermione got them, and Harry and Draco got juice glasses, but she filled theirs first. Harry met Draco's eyes -- he couldn't tell if Draco was trying not to sneer or not to laugh at his glass -- and then Draco raised his glass, clanking it against Harry's, and then they both took a swallow of the wine. Harry took a deliberately large one.

"So," Alicia asked, "what makes this so important that I have to talk about something unpleasant?"

Harry sighed and pushed his fringe back. "Sirius -- my godfather -- and I had some of this stuff--"

"I thought it was Lupin."

"Lupin was later. Sirius and I had some and started fooling around-- I mean, with each other...."

"Oh!"

"Just, you know, touching." Harry laughed nervously. Draco placed a hand on his thigh. Harry reached to hold it and had to grip it tightly. "Well, with the intent to get each other off, I suppose. Lupin found us, tried to stop us -- well, stop Sirius -- and then realized the problem." He cleared his throat. Alicia was looking shocked, but also confused. "He sent us up to his room, but he joined us later, and by then, he'd taken some. He thought it was an aphrodisiac, so I don't know what he was thinking -- that we'd all happily shag, or something, and then he'd Obliviate me? But he didn't touch us. He watched, and told us what to do, and after a while, started wanking to it. And he did it all in his _professor _voice, you know? And I'm godfather to his son, and every time I look at the kid I think about Lupin and want to just _hit _him -- his father, I mean, not my godson--"

"Harry, he's a _baby_," Hermione protested.

"I know. I just ... I just get a little panicky every time I look at him." Harry clenched his empty hand, letting the bite of his nails into his palms keep him focused. "I can't ask him what he was thinking. I want to know as much about it as I can."

"Oh, dear," Alicia said. She let out a shaky breath. "Well, I know you don't eat when you're nervous, Harry, but I do." She reached for the containers. "Who wants lamb?"

Having spoken, Harry found he could eat after all. His heart was still racing, but he could pretend not to notice. The curry was warm and good, making it possible to almost ignore the nonexistent conversation and the way that Alicia stared at the pot lid she was using as a plate. After a serving of lamb in sauce, and another of lentil something, and some of the golden spiced rice, Harry settled back to nibble on bread and drink the wine.

"So," Alicia said, having finished her own food, "I suppose I should tell you about it. You were just ... relaxed?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I wanted to please him -- Sirius. Desperately. I enjoyed what he did, but I would've done it if I hadn't, just to have him _look _at me like that."

Hermione bit her lip.

"Oh, poor dear!" Alicia exclaimed.

"Well, he _was_ good," Harry elaborated, not wanting this to get overly dramatic. "And willing to live with it, at the end. He didn't want my memory taken."

"Perhaps just conceited," Draco suggested. He lifted an eyebrow at Harry's glare. "Well, he _was _a Black, was he not?"

Harry snorted. "I'd be offended on his behalf if your mother wasn't as well."

"Exactly," Draco said smugly. "So I know. Even Aunt Andromeda has that look. She understands that she's to be admired."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Hermione protested. "She's made her own life against incredible odds."

"Exactly," Draco agreed.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Sirius had that. A little ragged at the edges from years of Dementors, but there." Taking a deep breath, he turned to Alicia. "So," he said. "Will you tell me? If you think it might help me understand? I-- I'd trusted him. Really trusted him, at that age, though not as deeply later...."

Biting her lip, she nodded. She pushed her pot cover away.

"I'll clear," Hermione volunteered, standing.

 

When all that was left on the table were three glasses -- Hermione had set hers by the sink -- and what was left of the bottle of wine, Alicia finally cleared her throat. "Well," she said, "You remember what an awful year that was. Over the Christmas holiday, I went out with the twins and Angelina, a few times -- sort of double-dating, you know, but Fred and Angelina were the most like a couple. Even they were nothing serious. Fred didn't do serious. George didn't either, I suppose, but sometimes I thought that Angelina would have been better with-- Never mind. Anyway, they trusted me to be part of that, including, um, one time in bed. I'm just telling you this so you understand how close we were."

Harry nodded. That made sense. They all would have been adults by then, able to Apparate around when they were out of school.

"So, this potion was apparently something they came up with over Christmas, but they didn't work on it back at Hogwarts -- it needed to sit undisturbed in sunlight, or something. Fred made a second batch at the end of June, anticipating having friends out of school. Angelina had a mad interview schedule at that point, and had refused, but since I wasn't trying out for Quidditch teams...." She shrugged tightly. "Fred came over to my parents' house, while they were both at work, and brought it to try on me."

"In biscuits?"

"Ginger chews, actually. He said ginger covered the heat of it best. He did tell me it was experimental, and said he wouldn't take any himself, because he'd probably not bother taking notes; that it made him really relaxed. So that's what I was expecting."

"Relaxed?" Harry asked incredulously.

She shrugged tightly. "If you're Fred, apparently." She hesitated. "So, I was ... You know I'm not usually critical."

Harry grinned over the rim of his glass. "I don't know. You were a bit critical about me getting kicked off the Quidditch team. And more recently, about Draco."

"They were both about Draco," she answered with a huff. "He's always driven you mad."

She froze, and then twitched back so suddenly that Draco had to reach forward and grab her wine glass to keep it from falling. They stared at each other.

"Seeker reflexes," he explained airily.

"Yes," Harry said. "He always has."

Alicia turned away. Hermione caught her hand and held it.

"Anyway," Alicia continued quietly, after a moment, "when I was seventeen, I had a hard time criticizing people. I wanted things to be peaceful, and I was brought up to be polite. I had learned to get past that on the pitch, but outside of that ... well, I tried to overlook people's faults.

"So I ate some of these sweets. In retrospect, they took effect almost immediately, although I didn't feel anything was wrong." At her glance, Harry nodded. Nothing had felt wrong at all. "Fred was looking smug, and I really wanted to put him in his place. I hadn't really wanted to try this anyway; he'd just been after me because Angelina couldn't. I told him how reckless I thought he was, and that I expected he'd stay that way until he killed somebody, which probably wouldn't take long. And that he wasn't nearly as hot as he thought he was, and his kisses were sloppy and boring, and his breath smelled, and at the party last weekend, he'd been talking with his mouth full and showing bits of crisp on his tongue, and I hated how lazy he and George were, and--" She took a breath. "Just all mixed up together. And it must have been worse than that, because I had him in tears, which I hadn't thought was possible. And then I started thinking of things I wanted to say to everyone else, and I began writing them letters. Fred took them and said he'd send them for me, which I didn't really believe, so I tried to call my owl, and he had to stun it. He couldn't stun me, because he didn't know if it would interact... Fortunately, it started wearing off around then, enough that I could almost grasp that I was being unreasonable, and he managed to persuade me that I should wait on the letters."

At this point, Alicia seemed to notice that she was twisting her hands together, and she stopped. She took another swallow of the wine. "Eventually, it wore off, and he burned the letters for me. And then he got up and said he was sorry and that he wouldn't bother me anymore, and he Apparated out." She looked up for a moment, blinking her eyes, and then gave up and wiped them. "And he didn't want to talk to me later. It was weeks before I could corner him long enough to say I didn't really mean all of that, and he said I must have, or I wouldn't have said it. And I couldn't honestly say I hadn't thought each of those things before, but I tried to explain, though I never really could, that most of them didn't really matter all that much. I mean, I tried to say yes, he has bad breath some times, but I know he gets obsessed with things and falls asleep over his research without brushing his teeth, and other times he makes up for it. It really doesn't bother me. It was just something he does wrong, and I had to make sure he knew about all his flaws, and I couldn't _help _it."

Alicia bit her lip. Her voice was starting to shake. "But he never really trusted me after that. He tried to pretend we were friends sometimes, but we weren't anymore. And eventually he stopped pretending, and George acted like I'd hurt him." Tears started spilling from her eyes, and she covered her face, muffling her words. "I mean, I _had _hurt him, but it was his fault, mostly, and they...."

"You poor thing!" Hermione exclaimed, wrapping an arm around her. Alicia leaned into her and sobbed.

 

Harry didn't think he could do much to help. He sat quietly with Draco while Hermione led Alicia to the sofa, and talked softly to her. She hadn't really _done _anything, he thought, but she hadn't behaved much like herself, either, and Lupin had mostly talked, really. If it was some repressed thing let out, then what had Lupin's been? Wanting to be in charge? Wanting revenge on Sirius? Wanting to put a defiant teen student in his place? 

"I wonder what Lupin was like with George and Fred?"

Harry had merely been musing aloud, but Hermione immediately raised her head. "Ask George."

"He won't talk about it," Harry said, shrugging. "He'd barely talk to me at all. Just set me up with a prostitute so I could try a girl."

_"What?"_ said everybody in the room simultaneously. Harry looked around in surprise.

"Oh, yeah, well, I did figure out later that it hadn't really helped anything, and it had been sort of stupid of me to take advice from George, but you know...." He shrugged. "He's always been.... I mean, the twins were...."

"The Weasley twins caused this whole mess!" Draco exploded. "Are you mad?"

"I don't think I was thinking very well at the time," Harry explained. "I'd just figured it out. He would barely talk about anything that had Fred involved in it, but when he realized that was the only time I'd had sex, he said that wouldn't do for a man my age, and suddenly we were off at some brothel."

"How was it?" Draco asked curiously.

Harry shrugged. "Okay."

"Okay," Draco repeated, amused.

"Well, it was -- she was just doing it because she was getting paid, right? I mean, there was no -- I couldn't turn her on, really."

Draco smirked. "If you say so."

"I can't believe you didn't even ask him!" Hermione scolded.

"I _did _ask him! I said I wanted to know everything about it, and he just said it hadn't been his, and he didn't remember."

"Well, I'm calling him now!" Hermione exclaimed. After giving Alicia's hand a final pat, she got up and strode to the little fireplace in the sitting room. "Wizard Wheezes' Weasley!" she said firmly, causing Draco to snort with badly contained laughter.

"It's the address for the flat," Harry explained.

"Yes," Draco said, with belated dignity. "I had inferred as much."

"Hello," said George's Ansa-Floo. "If you intended to call Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, please try again. If you are looking for me, please call again during business hours."

"George," Hermione said. "George, answer this Floo right--"

The flames flared and turned back to orange and yellow as she was disconnected.

"Well!"

"You can't be surprised, Hermione. He hardly even talks to his mother."

"George?" Alicia asked in surprise. He voice caught, and she blew her nose. "George talks to everyone. He must be out."

Harry shook his head. "Not since Fred died. I had to walk in during business hours to bully him into talking to me the one time -- and I did feel like a bully. He didn't want to let me upstairs."

Alicia, curled into the end of the sofa, lifted her head. "I thought it was just me. At the funeral, he wouldn't even _look _at me. I thought it was because Fred and I hadn't been close, the last two years."

Harry didn't remember much of the funeral beyond holding Ginny while she sobbed, and Ron looking like he was going to be sick, but Hermione told Alicia that George hadn't spoken to anyone, and had only come home once in all of August.

"I suppose you wouldn't have any better luck getting him to talk, then?" Draco asked Alicia.

With a rueful grimace, Alicia shook her head. "Not me. Even when we were close, it was Angelina who could bring him in line."

"Right," Hermione said. "We're calling Angelina, then. Is she local?"

Alicia hesitated. "Just across town."

"Good. She's coming with us to talk to George."

 

"George?" Angelina said, her dark skin bronzed by the dancing flames. "I'm fairly sure he doesn't want to see me."

"Why?" Alicia demanded. Angelina's face twisted up as she shrugged.

"Oh, I went to see him a few days after the funeral. Thought I'd bring him some food. He cut me off at the door, told me in no uncertain terms that _we _had never had a relationship, and that I had no reason to visit him."

Harry scowled. "That's not true, though, is it? You may never have been lovers, but you did have a _relationship_, just not that sort. I mean, that would be like me telling Hermione to piss off because we'd never shagged."

Angelina nodded tightly. "Still, he clearly doesn't want me around."

"Or anyone else around," Harry informed her. "I think this really goes beyond me, now. We need to get him to talk."

"So this was about you? Why did _you _need to talk to him?"

Harry bit his lip.

"Oh," Draco said airily. "Trauma that a victim of the twins' caused, but George won't say anything he knows about why."

"Harry, honestly! Since when do you get in a state about having your feelings hurt?"

"I think it went a bit beyond that," Alicia put in.

"It was sort of a rape," Harry said, "if that matters."

Angelina froze. She looked like it might matter quite a lot. "Sort of?" she asked, but more gently.

"Well, I'd had some too, so I was willing for one of them, in that state. But I was fifteen, and it was two men I'd trusted...."

She swore. "And George won't talk to you?"

"Not much," Harry said. "A little, once, because I own part of the shop, and pushed. But he says he doesn't remember, and it's clear he's not willing to try."

 

They met Angelina at the Leaky Cauldron, and then went to the shop. No one answered the bell, but Angelina had a key to the back door, which opened right onto a stairway to the flat.

"He didn't change the lock, at least," she said, as it swung open. They walked up quietly, by wandlight. Flickering light showed under the door at the top of the stairs, but the sitting room it opened into was empty. Even in the light of the dying fire, it looked worse than the last time that Harry had seen it.

"Who's there?" called a voice. George appeared in the door to the kitchen. He had a ragged beard, now, his hair was so greasy that it was almost brown, and he seemed to be struggling with figuring them out. Harry thought he might be drunk -- or, well, on some potion or something. Not all there, definitely.

"George!" Angelina exclaimed.

George scowled. "I'm sure I didn't invite you," he said. He chewed on his thumbnail, his eyes narrowing. "I wouldn't. You were _his_; I'm sure you were his."

"Shit," Angelina exclaimed. "Alicia? Your ball?"

Alicia let out a shaky breath, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. "Yeah. Mine."

She drew her wand, and when George fumbled for his, Angelina disarmed him. Not with a spell -- she just reached out and took the length of wood from his hand. "No, George."

"See, that's the problem with separate bodies," he explained earnestly, not seeming to notice. "They're useful at first, but then we go and do things on their own." He frowned. "Our own. His. You were his."

"Was he like this last time you talked?" Draco whispered.

"No. I mean, the place was a dump, and he wouldn't say Fred's name, but no."

A sickly light spluttered between Alicia's wand and George's skull. She waved a hand in front of his face. "Chiron's Oblivion, or Septimus's?"

He looked at her for a moment, puzzled. Finally, he nodded, pulled a piece of paper from his robe pocket, and handed it to her. "That, please," he said. He looked around and frowned. "Why are you here?"

Alicia smiled pleasantly. "Because I need you to sit down," she explained, taking his arm and steering him toward the sofa.

"Oh," he said, as if that explained it. When he was sitting, Alicia gestured Angelina to sit next to him, and then walked over to Harry.

"Distract him," she whispered, and continued at a slow walk toward the kitchen.

Harry stepped forward. "So," he said, "George."

George blinked at him.

"Um, you remember when I came here in August?"

Shaking his head, George leaned back. "I got rid of August, I think," he said. "Horrid month. But I remember you. You have the map." For just a moment, interest flared in his eyes. "We could never figure out the map. We--" He fell silent, his face contorting as if in pain. Behind him, Harry could see Alicia easing closer to the sofa, her wand held out.

"Yes, the map was great!" he said with desperate cheerfulness. "I still have it. Not much good since I got kicked out of school--"

George nodded solemnly. "I think I might have been," he said. Alicia had the wand at his head, now. She nodded at Harry to keep going.

"No," Harry said. "You left. And I'm not completely out, I just don't live there." He decided to test just how deep George's blurriness went. "I'm with Draco Malfoy, now," he added brightly.

George's brow furrowed. "Isn't that...." he began, but then his mouth fell open. Sparks from Alicia's wand began to grow in a net across his head, each juncture flaring against his skull. Grey gas erupted from his pores, shrouding him as if in smoke, while more billowed from his mouth. He squirmed within the smog.

"Angelina!" Alicia ordered. "Hold him."

"He's--"

"He's weak enough!"

Angelina tried to grab George's arms first, but when their motion proved too erratic, gave up and just crawled on top of him. His writhing slowed to jerky throws of his head, and then stopped altogether.

"Fuck," he muttered.

"Inarticulate as ever!" Angelina snapped, sitting up. "Let me make this clear. You took a potion intended for one-time supervised use, and apparently made it into a _habit_, such that you weren't even sure who I was, just that I'd had some connection to Fred--"

"Don't talk about him!"

"Why not? It doesn't make him any less dead if I don't. Just more _gone_, do you understand? Because then there's not even who he _was_."

"I don't want to!" George said desperately. "I can't yet. I need some time."

"It's November! You should have been doing it all along."

George looked around wildly. Suddenly, he relaxed. "Oh. This is a dream."

Angelina grabbed his hand and twisted his arm back until he yelped. "Dream?" she challenged.

"Malfoy's here!" he said quickly, his voice strained with pain.

"Yeah," Harry said. "He's my boyfriend. It was all over the papers."

"See?" George said to Angelina, who with a laugh, released his arm.

"Yeah. A lot of us felt that way."

"Um," Harry tried, "do you remember ... I was here in August?"

George thought for a moment. Eventually, he shook his head. "No."

"Chiron's Oblivion is a fairly powerful potion," Alicia explained. "It doesn't destroy memories, but it blocks access to them. It's used occasionally used in trauma cases, to delay remembering whilst healing more time-critical injuries and curses, but mostly I've dealt with it as something given to crime victims. With repeated use, it mars the formation of new memories, so if he was already taking it occasionally in August, he may have trouble retrieving what survived of your visit." She looked at George. "I'm working as a consulting medi-witch for the Auror department now. I did a little repair, but that's field triage. You need _treatment_. Properly speaking, I should bring you in to St. Mungo's tonight, but I'm willing to let you walk in under your own power on Monday. You'll have a lot more freedom that way."

"Right," he said. "Thanks."

Harry didn't get the impression he'd actually go. Alicia's eyes narrowed. "There are conditions."

"Of course."

"Monday, you go in with me, at nine o'clock."

"The shop--"

"Is obviously going along fine without you, and has for some time."

"Although it won't indefinitely," Angelina said sharply.

George raised his chin. "It's not really November."

"I'm afraid it is," Draco drawled. "Not that it matters to me; I've had a lovely autumn, really. I must thank you for sending Harry back in such a state that he jumped the first man who looked willing."

George's attention passed over him, zeroing in on Harry. "What do I have to do with that?"

Harry sighed. "A lot, originally, but I don't think what you did -- or rather didn't do...." He abandoned that approach. "I don't think you could have made me less curious in August, even if you'd been more helpful."

"What about my sister?"

"She still throws a mean Bat-Bogey hex."

Angelina snorted. "Good for her."

"For leaving her?" Alicia asked, frowning.

Harry ducked his head. "For cheating on her," he admitted.

George frowned. "Should I beat you up?"

"It's a bit late for that."

"My second condition," Alicia said stonily, "is that you answer Harry's questions about something that happened your seventh year."

"What?" George asked incredulously.

"While we were at Grimmauld Place," Harry said, "you left out a plate of ginger biscuits dosed with something. Sirius and I ate some. Lupin stayed behind to deal with you and-- and ate some too. I told you about this in August."

George rubbed his face as if trying to wake up.

"I thought I took you to a brothel."

Well, at least he remembered something. Harry shrugged. "The 'what if I'm gay' problem was the only part you seemed able to think about."

George raised his head to study Harry. "Are you?"

"Bi, I think."

"Right." George said, breaking into a triumphant smile. "I remember! You said Sirius had big hands."

Draco sniggered. When the women all stared at him, he tossed his head. "Not what I'd heard was big."

"That too," Harry muttered, blushing.

Angelina glared at George. "Fred would box your ears over this."

"Shut up."

"You're risking everything he worked for!"

"I didn't take that much of it," George protested. "Just a few times."

"How would you know?" Alicia asked tartly.

"It's _November_," Harry said, meeting and holding George's gaze. "You didn't know I'd dumped your sister."

"Oh, well that wasn't front page news," Angelina said dryly. "_That _was you snogging Malfoy in public." She smiled at the way George widened his eyes. "Renting a house with him.... Getting banned from the Hogwarts dormitories...."

"I don't believe this," George said sullenly.

"Or that it's November?" Angelina asked, as sweet as poison.

Crossing his arms, George stared back at her. "Right."

"Do you remember my name yet?"

"Angelina."

"Harry," Angelina ordered, "kiss your boyfriend."

Harry turned to Draco. For a moment, he met his gaze -- arch, distant, unreadable -- and then he leaned in. Draco's lips were as warm as his look was cool. For just a moment, Harry lost himself in the certainty of that passion. A hand clenched his shoulder.

"Enough, Potter," Angelina hissed, and he looked up into George's shocked stare.

"No," George whispered.

"George," Alicia said softly, "this needs to stop."

George's face scrunched up, and he turned and buried it against Angelina's braids, leaving Harry looking at that unfamiliarly dull hair.

"Shh," she said. "It's all right. Talk to Harry, now, love. He's still our Seeker."

A minute passed. Finally, George raised his head and glanced at Harry. "I don't know what to say," he muttered, looking down again.

"I need to know about that thing you were testing when I was fifteen," he said quietly. "The one Sirius, Lupin, and I had at Grimmauld Place. In the summer, Fred gave some to Alicia, and then said it needed to be dropped."

"I don't know what she did!" George answered, panicked. "I don't know!"

"Okay," Harry said. "That's fine. She's told me about it. What I want _you _to tell me is what Lupin was like."

"It was just--" George stopped and sucked in a breath. "I don't know where to start. I ... I don't want to think about it."

"Sweetie," Angelina said, "you have to. If Fred was around, you both would."

"But he isn't!" George shouted.

"I know. So you need to do it yourself."

"That's not _fair_!"

"Of course it's not. But it's not right to refuse."

George closed his eyes. He sat motionless for a long time before opening them. "How's Ginny?" he asked Harry quietly.

"Not talking to me yet. Ron says she's starting to recover. She did an interview with Witch Weekly -- this week's edition -- and didn't tar me as badly as she could have. Neville and Ritchie are both courting her, but she's a little wand-shy at the moment."

"And Mum?"

"I haven't heard from her, but since Draco blows up all our Howlers, that probably means she's still livid."

"So, Remus?"

"Yeah."

George took a breath. For a moment, he looked determined, but then he turned his face away. "Aggressive," he muttered. "Not seriously, though."

"'Aggressive' how?"

"We-- I saw him go in--"

"George," Angelina said, "say 'we.'"

"Why?"

"Because even though I can't have Fred now, I want him to have _existed_."

George closed his eyes for a moment. "We," he said. "We sent him in, after Sirius." The words sped up until they tumbled out quickly. "We pretended to be heading for the drawing room, when he came up the stairs. 'Looking for Sirius?' I asked him, and when he nodded, we said 'library.'

"After he went inside, we turned around and snuck back, but we couldn't hear anything at the door -- anything. We speculated that he'd put up a sound blocking charm. That, of course, made us even more curious, so I tried to open the door, but it was latched from inside.

"He -- Fred knocked." George closed his eyes. Angelina was rubbing little circles on his back. "I don't know why. I was already trying spells to lift the latch. When we got in, Sirius was gone. Remus was standing there, the plate in his hand, eating a biscuit. A lot of them were gone. He held the plate out and asked if we wanted any. Innocently. Too innocently. We wondered what Sirius had done.

"'Now, boys,' he said, strolling towards us, 'I really think you should have some.'

"'Doesn't do much to us,' Fred said, which was true.

"But then the vines hit us. It turned out the plate was just to hide his wand. He trussed us up, and then added a silencing spell, and then something to keep us upright. And then he prowled around us like a wolf.

"'Do you know what it does to werewolves?' he asked. 'What if it makes me bite you? Oh, you can't answer, can you?' And he leaned close to me and ran his teeth along my neck. It was things like that. Aggressive.

"He said I wasn't sexy enough, and then he cast a mild repulsion spell on the door -- so no one would find us -- and apparated out."

George stopped and took a few long breaths.

"Good job," Angelina said softly. "Is there more?"

George nodded, but didn't speak.

"When he came back, he talked to you again, right?" Harry prompted.

George nodded again. "Yeah. He must have been gone over an hour. We tried to reach something we could knock over loudly, but whatever kept us upright anchored us under that part of the ceiling. It was scary. And we couldn't talk."

Harry nodded sympathetically.

"When he did return ... well, he didn't let us go right away. He replaced the silencing spell with a muffling spell, and chided us for leaving aphrodisiacs out in a house with children." George bit his lip. "Well, we'd seen how he and Sirius looked at each other, and guessed they must have gone at it. I decided to help things along. I told him it just removed inhibitions--"

"That wasn't all of it!"

"We didn't know what it could do! We were trying to help."

"And _did _it have ingredients in common with Veritaserum?" Harry demanded.

"Two," George said. "But one was just isinglass."

"That's a clarifier," Draco interjected. "It's in hundreds of things."

"Yes."

"The other?"

"I don't remember. Something for unlocking."

"Mistletoe."

"Probably."

"So, what did he do?" Harry asked.

"Oh." George swallowed. "Um, he looked furious. And then he said, 'well good. If it's not an aphrodisiac, you won't take this wrong,' and he transfigured a book into a paddle and spanked us ten times each."

Hermione covered her mouth. Draco snorted. Alicia made the mistake of meeting Angelina's eyes, and they both burst out laughing. "Sorry!" Angelina fit in, between barks of laughter. George looked between them, and was suddenly laughing too. A moment later, he was sobbing. Alicia and Harry moved over at the same time, bolstering Angelina's embrace from the sides.

"Thank you," Harry whispered, and felt George's nod. Angelina looked at them over his bowed head.

"See yourselves out?" she suggested quietly. "I'll stay, Alicia."

Alicia nodded. She pulled back, and Harry did the same. Somehow, they had ended up holding hands, and he gave hers a squeeze before letting it go. "Let's go," he said to the others, and they left together, feeling their way down the dark stairs, and then out into the welcoming moonlight of a merely dim night.


	10. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read _May I?_ at the time that Harry re-examines the memory, you can find it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/69513

Hermione headed for the Leaky Cauldron and a Floo back to Hogsmeade, but Harry wanted to walk Alicia home, and Draco didn't object. Now that there wasn't George to care for, Harry didn't know what to do. At her flat, she invited them in.

"Will you stay for a little while?" she asked. "I don't want to be alone."

After a glance at Draco, who didn't seem distressed, Harry nodded. "Of course."

She poured out what little remained of the wine, and they squeezed onto the daybed, with Harry in the middle. "Did that help?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Some. I feel a little more sympathy for him, anyway."

"From George Weasley's description, I suspect he was testing his response on the twins," Draco contributed. "When he didn't want them, he probably thought he was safe."

"That makes sense."

Biting her lip, Alicia agreed. "It isn't something that you notice affecting you."

Harry nodded, but his throat was tight. "Or not so as you'd care," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Depressed." She laughed awkwardly. "Angry, maybe. How could Fred have held it against me?"

"Oh, Alicia!" Harry pulled her close, and she lay against him, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I don't understand that either. Maybe he didn't, but just couldn't get past it."

"Perhaps he felt too guilty to try," Draco suggested blandly.

"I miss them," Alicia said. "And I miss George just as much as Fred."

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Harry asked.

Shrugging, she looked away. "Yeah," she said unconvincingly. "Probably. If he sees someone to have the damage professionally evaluated and repaired."

"I'm sure you and Angelina can make him do it," Harry said. "And if not, call me."

"And you can handle him?" Draco asked doubtfully.

"He looks like he's lost enough muscle," Harry answered. "Oh, I know. I'll bring Ron; he can get to push around one of his older brothers. He'd love that."

Alicia opened another bottle of wine, and told them stories about people who had been subject to Oblivion potions, and who she wanted to see George, and how she was glad Angelina was around to help with him. She asked Harry if he played Quidditch these days, and he and Draco explained about the different rules for the eighth-years.

"So, lots of flying," Harry said, "but no Quidditch. Though maybe we'll do a few Seekers' Duels in the spring."

"Fred always wished he could fly around the grounds," Alicia said.

"Oh, I'll bet! Imagine how much trouble he and George could have caused at windows."

"Have you circled all the towers?"

"Not yet."

 

An hour later, she was cuddled up against him on one side, while Draco dozed on the other. "It's so good to see you, Harry," she said softly, and lifted her head to kiss his cheek. She giggled. "You've grown."

"Happens to everyone," Harry answered, and he leaned in and kissed her.

She smelled nice, and her lips were soft and eager. It was a moment before he pulled away. "Um...." he said, glancing at Draco, who was suspiciously still.

"I hadn't intended--"

"That was me, actually," he pointed out. He brushed a cheek across Draco's light hair. "In theory, we have an agreement about women, but in practice...."

"You don't know?" she guessed.

"Yeah. It's always been a theory."

"Well," she said, standing, "with or without shagging, you're welcome to stay the night. Both of you -- by now, I can't hate him any more. You seem to have turned him into a nice young man, somehow."

"Advanced Transfiguration," Harry joked, and she laughed. "Though really, I think it was his work."

"I need to use the loo. Are you going to want any more wine, or should I put it away?"

"I've had more than enough, I think."

"Okay. I'll be back in a minute." She gave him a coy smile. "And when I am, I'm going to want to turn that thing you're sitting on back into my bed."

"Got it," Harry said. He listened to her footsteps receding. Gently, he kissed Draco's hair.

"Hey," he said softly. "Wake up, a moment."

"Mm?" Draco answered.

"Alicia invited us to spend the night. May I have her?"

"If you wish." Draco gave one of his disinterested half-shrugs, his eyes flicking open for a bare second. "As you said, we have an agreement."

Harry tugged his fringe down. "Yeah, but you were really talking about a wife, not a comfort-fuck. I think she could use it though, don't you?"

"Perhaps," Draco said. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" Harry said, panicking suddenly, although he wasn't sure why. "Just-- No, stay." It occurred to him that if Draco stayed, he would likely watch, and panic surged again, but this time he didn't say anything. He kissed Draco instead, and Draco returned it with as much intensity as he ever had, but did not press close. Harry pushed into the kiss, using it to hold back an 'I love you'. In someone else's bed, feeling as strange he did, wasn't the first time to say that.

When Alicia returned, she had changed into a nightgown. It showed the curves of her breasts and the peak of each nipple. Harry gazed admiringly, scarcely aware of getting to his feet so she could convert the bed. It extended to twice its width, and he settled back into it without noticing more. Alicia was on one side of him, and Draco slid in on the other, briefly distracting him with an oddly chaste kiss. Harry beamed at him.

 

Alicia was perfect -- warm and responsive and dear to him, everything that had been lacking in his encounter with the prostitute. He adored her breasts with hands and lips as thoroughly as he had with his eyes. When he slid his hand between her legs, his breath caught, and by the time he brought his cock to that slick channel, he was shaking with need.

Occasionally, he glanced uncomfortably over at Draco, afraid he would be wanking, and angry at himself for being afraid -- his lover should get to enjoy this as much as he did, shouldn't he? Draco, to his relief, was sometimes resting with his eyes closed, and sometimes watching with a strangely placid smile. Harry wondered if he had taken Calming potion, but he didn't have the focus to worry about it, with Alicia's warm body moving against his.

"I want you on top," she whispered, and he rolled over her.

"So beautiful," he murmured, and then lost all words as he pushed inside her. She was marvelous. His tension all clustered around the rise of his pleasure, and when he came, his ecstasy ferocious, it all drained away. He thrust doggedly against her until she followed, and then collapsed into heavy sleep.

 

Harry woke late on Saturday morning. From the light, he could tell he'd already missed Muggle Studies. It took him a moment to recognize that he was still at Alicia's, and another to realize that he was alone. He got up and went looking for the others.

Alicia was in kitchen, and greeted him with a cheery smile.

"Hello! I'll make you breakfast if you like, but your boy was gone when I woke up this morning. If you'd rather chase him down, I'll understand."

Harry pushed his fringe back. "Oh. Yeah, I better, um, do that."

"All right." She tripped over and embraced him quickly and strongly. "Don't be a stranger."

He grinned. "I promise."

 

He used the loo, washed his face, found and donned his clothing, and flooed home. No one came to greet him. He walked from the formal living room to the dining room, and the dining room to the kitchen, and the kitchen to the back sitting room. Draco was there, standing at the window, watching a grey rain.

"Hey," Harry said, stopping behind him. "When I woke up, you were gone."

Draco shrugged. Harry could see a hint of his face in the glass. "I thought you might want some time with your new girlfriend."

"_What?_" Harry stepped up beside Draco, and settled an arm around him. Draco stood tensely still. "_Comfort fuck_, Draco. That's all."

"You enjoyed her. Tremendously."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "For a night. And we're friends. But I wouldn't keep her, and she wouldn't want me to. I thought you _saw _that."

"No, not really." Draco turned towards him. "I saw I might as well get it over with."

"Get what over with?"

"You leaving me."

Harry stared at him for a moment. Suddenly, he laughed. "Don't hold your breath."

"But you like girls."

From the lost way he said it, Harry suddenly realized that Draco had never believed that. "Yeah," Harry said patiently, "I like girls. As I have been telling you all year, I am _bi_. That shouldn't come as a surprise."

"So, you...." Draco gestured helplessly at the air. Harry caught his hand and kissed it.

"I like girls, Draco. I love you."

After one frozen moment, Draco fell into his arms. Harry held him while he shuddered with sobs. "Love you, Draco," he repeated softly, and let him cry. Draco, he thought, probably didn't cry much more often than he did, but when he broke, it was completely. That was okay, really.

After a while, Draco's breathing started to steady. He pulled out a handkerchief -- a real one, with a monogram -- wiped his face, and blew his nose. "Sorry. I-- You're always so cool," he said, startling Harry. He thought of himself as very obvious; could he really be that hard to read? "It was clear you wanted a toy, and I thought I could be that, at least for a while. It would get rid of one dangerous enemy, and I'd get good sex out of the deal -- what could be wrong with that?" He looked up, his face still odd-looking, and his eyes pink. Harry kissed his cheek.

"A dangerous enemy?"

"Well, _you_, I mean. If I was pleasing you, you wouldn't be, because you're not the type to mistreat something that's yours." He bit his lip. "And if you started to go that way, I'd at least have the means to do you some damage. But then it was better than I'd expected, and you were deeper than I had thought, and before I saw the danger, I had fallen for you. You liked me, at least, so that wasn't entirely hopeless. Still, you would talk about your girlfriend and...." He stopped and swallowed. "And when I said I loved you, you treated me like a pet."

"You were _high_," Harry protested.

"I was ... what?"

"I mean, you weren't in your right mind, really. I wasn't sure you meant it -- or, well, that you'd mean it later." He shrugged tightly. "When you didn't say it again...."

"You _cannot _mean that."

"Well, yes, actually. I've never been sure I was more than a social maneuver. One you enjoyed, obviously, but...."

"Oh." Draco stared wonderingly at him for a minute. "Well, then -- I love you. All right?"

Grinning, Harry embraced him again. "_Much _more than all right. Come back to bed?"

Draco wrinkled up his nose. "Not until you shower. You smell like girl, and someone else's sheets."

"Join me?"

"Of course."

 

They did go back to bed, but not for long. Oh, they were slow and unusually tender about making love, but almost as soon as his heartbeat had steadied afterwards, Harry realized he was starving. Draco hadn't eaten either, and he offered to fly down to the bakery if Harry fried eggs. Afterwards, they sat in the back sitting room, sipping hot chocolate and watching the rain on the glass and the wind in the trees.

"Dinner with your mother and Andromeda, tonight," Harry remarked. He wondered if he would see Teddy, and if it would be any better. He wasn't sure, yet, if his feelings had changed.

"Mm. Yes. Are you still annoyed that I interfered?"

"Not really." Harry shook his fringe down over his forehead. "So, about that pensieve...?"

"Yes?"

"I think you're probably right," Harry took a quick breath. "I need to see it again."

"Do you want me to come in with you, or just wait in the room?"

"Come in, I think." Harry shot him a quick glance. "Just -- it won't be easy for me. Thank you for not watching too much last night."

"Speaking of not easy," Draco said dryly. "You're beautiful in motion. Fortunately, I found it depressing enough to dampen my reaction slightly."

"I didn't realize you thought you were losing me."

"I didn't realize I _had _you."

Harry reached out and took his hand. "Completely," he said.

 

"Wow," Draco said, as they settled on their feet after falling back from the pensieve. His voice shook slightly. "I don't care how much you've grown since -- Sirius was hung like a bloody satyr."

Harry laughed, the sound high and tense. He didn't know what he felt yet -- there was too much of it, wound up into a hard ball. He was caught between panic and relief that Draco would say something light.

Then Draco touched him -- just a gentle hand in the middle of his back, and it all dissolved. He sobbed, an embarrassing, raw, harsh sound, and Draco pulled him close. "Hush, hush," he soothed, not at all as if he were really asking for quiet. "The settee, now. It's all right. Hush."

It's not really," Harry said, as they sat before one of the high library windows. He wasn't crying exactly; there weren't tears, but it was terribly hard to both breathe and speak.

"Yeah," Draco said softly. "Lupin was trying, I think. He badly wanted to see Sirius fuck your arse, judging from how turned on was by helping with the lube -- and really, every time you went further. He managed to restrain himself, because I think if he'd told you to do it, you both would have tried."

Harry nodded. He had seen that, actually -- seen now, as he hadn't been able to then, that Lupin was stretched as tight as a drum, lusting for and angry at Sirius, and expressing both through him.

"He was better than I remembered, actually," he said. "Though he was enjoying the power more than I remembered, as well."

"He thought it was an aphrodisiac," Draco said thoughtfully.

Harry nodded again. Lupin had thought he was safe when he didn't want the twins. They had already decided that.

"When he didn't want the twins, but wanted Sirius terribly, he must have though it was one of the enhancers."

"Enhancers?"

"There are some that don't cause generalized lust, but only heighten lust that exists. And if it was that, that would mean you and Sirius had secretly wanted each other."

Harry considered that. "Ouch," he said finally, half-laughing. The sound was ragged and painful, but it made him feel better.

"And Sirius didn't want _him_, obviously, because he warned him off more than once."

"Merlin. The poor sod." Harry remembered the accusation Remus had flung at Sirius when he returned. "And any lust he felt for _me _directly...."

There was a knock at the door. Harry straightened quickly and coughed to clear his throat.

"What is it?" Draco called.

"Are you decent, dear? We have a scheduling problem."

Draco shot a look at Harry, and at Harry's nod, unlocked the door. "Come in."

Narcissa came in, followed by Andromeda, who, to Harry's surprise, was holding Teddy.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to go out tonight," she said. "Teddy's sitter has taken ill."

Harry and Draco looked at each other. Harry thought he should feel relieved, but he was really more annoyed. He was prepared for this; he didn't want to put it off. "Could you get someone else?" He brightened. "I bet Hermione would."

"She's in school, dear."

Draco snorted. "Well, yes, but _we _started a trend, of course. Who wouldn't rather live in Hogsmeade?"

"A lot of them can't afford it, Draco," Harry pointed out. He shot Andromeda a grin. "But Lavender almost hadn't come back. She really wanted to start work on an accessories shop--"

"So she persuaded Parvati Patil to be caught in _flagrante delicto _with her--"

"Seamus having intelligently turned her down--" Harry interjected. Narcissa had a hand hiding her smile, and Andromeda was giggling.

"For which they got nothing but a slap on the wrist and a long talk with Madam Hooch."

"Seamus had to go to Professor McGonagall and explain that Lavender wasn't really a lesbian; she was just hoping to be kicked out like we had been."

"As a result of which," Draco explained, over the women's burst of laughter, "the eighth years now have vastly enhanced liberty. She would be permitted to leave for the evening."

Andromeda, still chuckling, shook her head. "I don't know if we have time to arrange--"

"An owl from our house will be quick," Harry pointed out.

"Does she have any experience with babies?"

"She seemed okay with Victoire," Harry said. "Bill and Fleur's little one. Besides, we'll be only a few minutes' walk away if she looks after him at our house, and she knows how to send a Patronus messenger. We can bring out brooms, if you like."

"Harry," Draco protested, "we can Apparate. Or take the Floo."

"Oh." Harry blushed. "Yeah. So we'd be seconds away."

 

They Flooed to Hogs Hill Cottage. Harry remembered Draco being worried about his mother seeing the shabbiness of the rooms in daily use, so he suggested the Malfoys wait in the drawing room, while he took Andromeda in search of parchment -- which naturally was in the comfortable sitting room that looked out over the back gardens. They wrote a letter, and she got to see the deer -- they were roe deer, she told him -- and Godwin came to Harry's whistle and took the letter off to Hermione.

After that, Harry showed Andromeda to the kitchen, so she could prepare formula or whatever it was she gave Teddy -- he realized he didn't know. He didn't even know what the options were.

"I'll be out in a minute," she assured him. "Would you take Teddy with you, please?"

Gingerly, Harry took the baby. He wasn't fussing yet -- just making faces. Walking with him seemed terribly dangerous, and he moved very carefully. That was probably why Narcissa and Draco didn't notice his approach. He heard their voices before he reached the doorway.

"I know that look in your eyes, Draco. You hope to further tangle our family tree."

"It's really more of a family vine, Mother. As you never gifted me with a sister, I could hardly make it worse." His bored drawl brightened slightly as Harry looked cautiously in at the door. "Still, we're generations past due for a titillating family scandal, don't you think so? A shared wife might be just the thing."

"Have you brought up the matter with him?" Narcissa asked. Her expression stayed blandly curious as her eyes met Harry's over Draco's shoulder.

"Of course not, mother! I'd frighten him off."

"Would you?" Harry asked.

Draco whipped around. Hot pink was already spreading up his face. "Mother!" he complained.

"I'm difficult to frighten, you know," Harry said easily, though he suspected he was a little red himself. "Not that I'm saying yes, just yet...."

"I ... It could work."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure. At the very least, I'd have to get over a particular hang-up. But I'm certainly willing to discuss it." He grinned. "That should be a very long, _detailed _discussion, I think."

"Harry! Not in front of my mother!"

"I hate to tell you this, Draco, but your mother doesn't look disturbed."

"Even so--!"

"Hang-up?" Narcissa asked, with just the right touch of scandalized interest.

"Um." Harry bit his lip. "If there's a phobic counterpart to exhibitionism, I have it."

From the doorway, Andromeda laughed. "Well! That's a line to walk in to."

Harry shrugged. "My first sexual experience was sort of a mess," he confessed. Somehow it felt okay to say that now. "Everyone involved had consumed some of an experimental potion of the Weasley twins -- two of us accidentally, and the third with a flawed understanding of what it did."

"What did it do?" Narcissa asked, as Andromeda passed Harry a bottle.

"They never quite figured that out," Harry admitted, shifting Teddy to feed him, and glad of the excuse to keep looking down. "Or at least George didn't. I never had the opportunity to ask Fred."

"It seemed to turn some restrained thought into an obsession," Draco said, "and suppress all sense of judgment."

"You were involved in this?" Narcissa asked sharply.

"No, I just watched it in a pensieve this afternoon." Draco reached for Harry's leg, and pressed his hand against it gently. "I expect you do not want to talk about it?"

"It's hardly polite conversation," Harry answered, ignoring that their previous topic had hardly been proper either. Teddy had finally taken the bottle. Harry decided that he did feel better about Remus, but even more so, watching him in the pensieve had separated him from the baby in his mind. That was a relief; he hoped it lasted.

"I did infer one thing, though," Draco said.

"Oh?"

"My guess is that the less a person habitually restrained feelings or actions, the less they were affected. That explains, of course, why Fred and George Weasley found their invention merely relaxing."

After considering that for a moment, Harry decided that was more true than offensive and nodded. He, of course, restrained himself quite a lot in some ways, and not at all in others; he had been lucky no one had mentioned Voldemort to him while the potion was taking effect.

"Excuse me," Andromeda said sharply. "This happened while Fred was still alive, but you did not ask him then?"

Harry looked up at her. She was too clever. He could see that she had already put that together with Remus having blocked his memories of something. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Perhaps you did not _remember _it until after his death?" she asked pointedly. Reluctantly, he nodded.

"I-- Watching in the pensieve, he wasn't that bad."

"_He _being Remus."

"Yeah." Harry pulled his hair forward. "I'd still feel better about it if he'd let me remember. Yeah, I was young, and it would have been confusing, but the block just delayed the trauma until I was stuck dealing with it on my own. I think he felt guilty, that was all, and just didn't want to admit he'd enjoyed it."

"One would think," Draco said, "that those of you who dealt with Fred and George Weasley on a regular basis would learn to stop _believing _them."

"You'd think," Harry agreed. "If he had let me remember, we might have talked it out and been closer."

"Or you might have cut off both of them, and they each other," Draco said. "It was a risk."

Harry let out a breath, trying to steady himself. "He didn't like that sort of risk," he admitted. He looked down at the baby. "If your Papa was alive," he said, "I'd probably deck him, and he'd probably let me." That reminded him of Neville's approach to him, after he broke up with Ginny. "But I duck out of things too, sometimes. Given a few hours of shouting, I think we'd be close again."

"Harry...." Andromeda started, but she didn't seem to know what else to say. She cleared her throat. "My daughter ... she was not involved-- not the third member of this? I mean, Teddy isn't...."

Startled, Harry looked up. "God, no," he blurted out. "It was Sirius."

"Ser-- Sirius Black?" At Harry's nod, she frowned. "Yet you speak of _him _fondly."

"He didn't know he was taking this stuff any more than I did," Harry said defensively. "And he didn't want Remus to mess with my memories."

"And you thought he was hot," Draco said dryly.

Harry thought back over his recently viewed memory. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I did." He shrugged. "And looking at it in the pensieve.... I think he felt a lot like I did. He wanted to be closer to me, and had hit upon something that I responded to."

"Harry, dear," Narcissa said gently, "if he didn't know better than that, he was as mad as our sister."

Harry shook his head. "We'd had quite a lot of this stuff of the twins. _Nothing _seemed inappropriate. If someone had mentioned Voldemort to me, I'd probably have forgotten about sex and tried to head out on a solo attack, because that was much more of an obsession of mine."

"And me?" Draco asked.

"Oh, you!" Harry grinned. "Captured and imprisoned you, I think, though it would have worn off before I could get into a real interrogation."

"This does not assure me of my son's safety."

"Mother! We were fifteen!"

Narcissa's brow furrowed, and she sat back. "Of course," she murmured. "Sirius."

Andromeda cleared her throat. Before she could speak, loud chimes rang through the house. Someone had turned the key of the doorbell. Automatically, Harry got to his feet, and found he'd somehow managed it while still holding the baby.

"I'll get it," Draco said.

Harry shook his head. "No. If Hermione found her own way here, better me." Andromeda stood to take Teddy. The transfer was slow, but the drawing room was just off the front hall, so it hardly mattered. Harry was there in seconds, and opened the door to find Hermione outside -- with Ron.

"Hi!" she said. "Surprise!"

"I flew her over," Ron explained. "Didn't want you to get in trouble for flying in, and I didn't want her out alone."

Hermione shot him a coy look, and Harry guessed that they had other reasons. "Well, come in, then. Teddy's just finishing up a bottle."

"And you'll be in the village?"

"Yes, just a short walk down the hill. We could get a Patronus message in seconds."

"Good," Hermione said, nodding briskly. "I'll need to know where everything is, of--"

She broke off suddenly. Harry realized that Andromeda was standing in the doorway with Teddy, but Narcissa was at her shoulder.

"What's _she _doing here?" Ron snarled.

"She'll be going to dinner with us," Harry said, not quite covering Draco's derisive snort. His lover was out of sight behind the sisters, at least.

"Oh," Hermione said weakly.

"Collecting the whole set?" Ron sneered.

Glaring, Harry seized him by the arm. "Excuse us," he said, through clenched teeth, to the women, and he hauled Ron into the back room. Hermione followed.

"You will not," Harry spat, as soon as the door had shut behind him, "be rude to my guests in my home."

"That's Mrs. Malfoy!" Ron exclaimed. "Used Kreacher to spy on the Order? Sneered at us every time we met?"

"Saved my life in the Battle of Hogwarts?" Harry retorted. "Not to mention being my boyfriend's mother, and my godson's aunt!"

"Not that that matters, since her family kicked her sister out."

"Well, they spend a lot of time together now. That's how I met her again -- _not _through Draco. You'll recall she was at Tonks's funeral."

"Desperately trying to keep her place in society."

"She _helps _with Teddy."

"Really?" Hermione exclaimed. It was the first thing she'd said since they came into the room.

"Yes, really."

Ron glared. "Well, I suppose you don't need _us_, anymore," he said nastily, "since you have the _Malfoys_."

"Of course I need you!"

"Why?" Ron demanded. "For minding the baby?"

Harry just stared, for a minute, silenced by too many things he didn't know how to explain; _love _would sound stupid and girly, and _safety _would sound selfish. He saw Hermione start to open her mouth and hurried to speak.

"Because the three of us can do _anything_," he said. "But it's not that simple, now. You two are together, and I have my own lover, and a godson, both of whom have families -- some of the same family. You'll have children together, I'm sure, and I may have children some day. We can't be just the three of us, anymore, but we can still be _us_. We need to learn to be us with other people involved."

Hermione was biting her lip, and her eyes looked bright. He thought he'd made it through there.

"Fine," Ron said angrily. "But why do I have to be nice to Malfoy's mum?"

"Because we're _adults_, Ron!"

Hermione reached out to take his hand. "He's right, Ron. She's his partner's mother."

"Malfoy won't be his partner for long, if he wants children!"

Harry smiled, remembering what he had overheard earlier. "Oh, I don't know. It's hard to tell with Draco."

"I hate to break it to you, mate, but you and 'Draco' can't have children."

Harry widened his eyes. "Oh, does Wizarding law not allow same-sex couples to adopt? They'll bloody well allow _me _to, no matter whom I'm with."

"Oh, well if you're counting _that_...."

"Don't know why I wouldn't."

"Harry," Hermione reproved, "you've made your point. Now run along and have a nice dinner."

"Nice as you can, with--"

"Ron!"

Ron sighed. "All right. Fine. Enjoy your evening."

Harry started to turn, but then paused uncertainly. "Friends?" he asked.

"Yeah, of course." Ron slapped him on the back, only a little too hard. His hand rested for a moment in silent apology. "Friends."

 

Harry didn't ask that Ron apologize; that would obviously just cycle back to another scene. Instead, he sent Andromeda to talk to Hermione, and a few minutes later, they left for dinner. Andromeda, Narcissa, and Draco all had a highly developed sense of public behavior and training in small talk. Neither the incident with Ron nor the one with Remus and Sirius was mentioned, although the conversation touched on all of those people in other ways. Harry talked about Sirius as a fugitive, and how he'd bringing food to him in the cave had made him feel sort of protective of his godfather. Draco talked about some of his more successful attempts to bait Ron, and how after years of fanning the other boy's hatred, he found himself at a loss for how to make peace with his lover's best friend. Harry couldn't resist mentioning the "Potter Stinks" badges, which Narcissa had apparently never heard about, and Draco admitted that he had been jealous that Harry had somehow gotten the goblet to accept his candidacy, when he hadn't been able to figure out a way to do the same.

"Ron was too," Harry said, "but I didn't _do _it. I didn't even try."

"Well, I knew that later, of course, after it came out about Barty Crouch. But I always assumed the worst of you."

Harry chuckled. "I thought you were the Heir of Slytherin, you know."

"Really?"

"Really. Ron and I doped Crabbe and Goyle and polyjuiced into them to try to pump you for information, and we found out you didn't know any more than we did."

"Wherever did you get polyjuice potion?" Andromeda exclaimed, as Draco said "you _what_?" incredulously.

"We made it. Well, Hermione made it, and Ron and I helped with stirring and such."

Narcissa sighed. "Exactly how many _months _of cumulative work have you two put into making each other miserable?"

Harry and Draco looked at each other.

"Rather a lot," Harry admitted.

"I expect it will take us _years _to make up for it all," Draco drawled.

"Decades, perhaps," Harry said daringly.

"Perhaps."

Laughing pleasantly, Narcissa glanced over her menu. "As long as I get grandchildren, darling."

 

When they got back to the house, Hermione emerged from the back sitting room to talk to Andromeda, and with a slight flick of her head, indicated to Harry that he should go back and see Ron. He nodded and slipped past her.

"Hey," he said, walking over to where Ron was standing by the low fire.

"Hi," Ron answered, turning. "Look, I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have gone after a guest of yours like that."

"Thanks," Harry said. "Would you apologize to her?"

Ron worried at his lower lip for a moment, but ultimately, he shook his head. "I can't. I wouldn't mean it."

Nodding, Harry reached out and grasped his arm. "All right," he said. Meaning it was important. "She's nicer than you might think, though, once she's treating you as real."

Ron snorted. "_You _say, but I know you're barmy."

They walked out together. With a glow of warmth, Harry saw that Hermione and Draco were speaking amiably to each other. As Ron collected his broom, Narcissa stepped forward, and Harry's heart sank.

"Mr. Weasley," she said politely, and Ron managed a curt nod of acknowledgment.

"I would like to state that with my husband in prison, I am now making my own way in the world. I have decided that means discontinuing his various feuds. While I realize that this may not positively incline you towards me, I wish you to know that the option of more amiable interactions is available."

Ron stared at her, mouth slightly open, as if trying to decipher the offer, or perhaps how to react to it. "I'll think about it," he said finally, and inclined his head again. "Mrs. Malfoy." He looked over his shoulder. "Ready, Hermione?"

"Hey," Harry said, as they moved to the door. "Come and visit sometime?"

Ron grinned. "Seeing that you owe Hermione for baby sitting, how about dinner next week?"

"Great," Harry answered, in a flood of relief. He would have to make it up to Draco, of course, but that might be worthwhile in itself. "See you Monday, then."

 

Later that evening, after everyone had left, Draco finally scowled at Harry.

"You invited them over."

"Or out," Harry said, "whichever is easier for you."

"Oh, am I supposed to be present for this?"

"Of course you are. You're my boyfriend. Don't you want to remind them of that?" Harry coaxed, and Draco almost smiled. "Look," Harry went on, "I've been thinking about what you told your mother. You don't think you need to provide me with a girl to keep me around, do you?"

"No, of course not--" Draco began glibly, and then stopped. "Well," he said, clearing his throat. "It couldn't hurt. I was thinking more, though, that when I married, all three of us were likely to be bored. If you would entertain my wife, you could have children by her too, and then you wouldn't go and look for one of your own."

Harry laughed. "We'll have a _lovely _time finding a woman who'll agree to that!"

"Oh, I don't know," Draco answered. "We could offer her the choice of our names -- she'd pick yours, I expect -- and a great deal of freedom and money." He shot Harry a mischievous look. "Of course, I'd want someone you didn't like _too _much."

"Nix that!" Harry retorted. "I'm not having children by anyone I don't care about."

"You may care if you wish, as long as you think I'm sexier."

"Of course you'll be sexier!" Harry seized Draco at the waist and pulled him close. "You're sexier than anyone else."

They kissed fiercely, and then contentedly, until Draco parted them with a sigh.

"Look," said Harry quietly. "What if we try with just us, first, before we start getting complicated? Say ... a year?"

"A year of just us," Draco repeated, his brow furrowing. Harry couldn't tell if he was agreeing or asking for clarification.

"Right. No looking for a wife on your part, and no falling over old friends on mine. _Then _we can talk about what we want to do next. Okay?"

When Draco _really _smiled, it was dazzling. "I think that's an excellent plan."


End file.
